


Kryo Sidero

by Camelittle, LFB72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Collars, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin Reverse Bang 2019, Modern Magical Suppression, Needles, Protective Merlin, Snooping, merlin whump, under cover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:46:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Camelittle/pseuds/Camelittle, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFB72/pseuds/LFB72
Summary: Merlin is searching for a way to reverse magical psychosis, which is caused by a powerful anti-magic drug. With help from his uncle, Merlin infiltrates the organisation that manufactures the drug. He poses as Uther Pendragon's personal assistant, and while under cover he searches for information that might help sufferers. But instead of finding a cure, everywhere he turns he stumbles across his boss’s annoyingly handsome prat of a son, Arthur. And it soon turns out that Arthur is hiding secrets of his own.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Artist's Notes:** This is for the wonderful Camelittle, I was so honoured and delighted when she chose my art and prompt and I knew I was in expert hands. I have had the pleasure of working with Cam before and this was every bit as amazing. She has created a fantastic story and is so encouraging and gracious, it has been a real pleasure to work with her on this project and have the opportunity to create more art.  
> Many thanks also to my talented and long suffering art beta, Merlinsdeheune whose help is invaluable and to the fantastic Tari-Sue who helped to sort out my attempt at animation.  
> Finally the mods deserve a well earned shout out for all the organisation of the fest.  
>  **Author's Notes:** What can I say about the incomparable LFB72? Her amazing art as always stuns and inspires me with all those glorious, vibrant colours. Just look at the witty little details. *Swoon*. As soon as I saw the original piece, I knew I had to create something to go with it. So, dear reader, run, don't walk, to see the stunning art master post and deposit as many kudos and loving comments as you can!  
> Art post for Kyro Sidero [Here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18841765) 
> 
> Dearest LFB: Thank you so much for your patience and understanding when I changed the story title not once but twice... then managed to accidentally post chapter 1, before deleting the whole thing. Yikes!  
> Huge thanks also to my wonderful beta readers, jiang and archaeologist_d, who wrestled with the original babbling mess and helped me to shape it into something a bit more coherent. Thank you so much for helping me to tighten up the plot and tidy up all the inconsistencies. Any remaining errors, plot holes, gaping chasms of plot vacuum or otherwise horrible issues, are all my fault.

 

> **_Krýo :_   **_from the ancient Greek_ κρύος _(icy cold, chill, frost)_
> 
> **_Sídero:_ ** _from the ancient Greek_ σίδηρος _(sídēros, “iron”)._

Merlin Hunithson closes his eyes, holding a hand out so that his fingertips rest on the combination lock. He concentrates on the pool of magic that warms his belly. Pain flares at his neck. It burns with a chill that makes him flinch, and he will suffer for it later. But right now he just needs to focus, so he ignores it.

Blinking back the tears that start in his eyes while the kryo-collar reacts to him, he mentally separates his pain from the sensation of power that grows from his splayed fingers. He extends his magical senses into the inner workings of the lock mechanism. At his bidding, a vision of a complex series of levers flashes in front of his closed eyes. He just needs to line them all up in the right order, and the safe will spring open.

He bites his lip, focusing on turning the intricate concentric circles. When a line of gaps forms in his head, he whispers the command.

There’s a series of whirs and clicks. His eyes flash open. He senses, rather than sees the safe door quietly easing away. He’s done it! A sense of triumph over-rides the intense searing pain at his throat, and he reaches into the safe with one shaking hand, withdrawing a brown manila folder.

This is it! This must be what Uther has been working on in secret with Aredian for all these months. 

By the faint werelight that accompanied him into the room, he sees “Top Secret: Avalon”, written on the front of the folder in red ink. This must be it. Uther and Aredian's secret project. Gaius will be so relieved. Anticipation making his heart race. With clammy hands, Merlin flips open the file. But triumph is displaced by the cold claws of disappointment. He shakes his head, flipping the folder over and over in disbelief. 

The folder is empty. Why would Uther keep an empty folder in the safe? 

A faint clicking noise alerts him. Someone is opening the door to Uther’s office. He must act quickly. Or he’ll be caught red-handed.

Hastily thrusting the folder back inside the safe, he closes it as quietly as he can and wills it to lock with a whisper. He extinguishes the werelight with a click of his fingers.

His use of magic sends another agonizing burst of the inhibitor flooding through his skin, the pain so intense this time that he has to suppress an involuntary hiss. He closes his eyes again, visualising his magical cortex, to bolster up the shields he has placed around it. He must prevent the inhibitors from reaching those synapses, to avoid another magical collapse.

When his eyes open again, the figure of a man stands silhouetted in the doorway. Light streams in through the door behind the man. It hurts Merlin’s eyes, but he would recognise those broad, strong shoulders anywhere.

Arthur Pendragon, his boss’s son.

“What are you doing in here snooping around in the dark?” Arthur says.

Merlin swallows, wracking his brain for an explanation, and decides to act clueless, which he knows will wind Arthur up. “It’s dark? I hadn’t noticed.”

The light goes on, making Merlin wince. He blinks.

Raising his eyebrows, Arthur folds his arms, pressing his lips together with that infuriating smirk of his. The one that makes his cheekbones stand out, unfairly stark, and fills Merlin with an unwanted urge to lick them, or failing that to embarrass himself in some other equally horrible way, like falling to his feet and begging to be spanked.

“Oh! I suppose it is, rather. I just… I just… erm…” He swallows. “I have exceptionally good night vision. Or I did, until you turned the damned light on. It must have got dark while I was in here.”

“It’s past five o’clock, Merlin,” drawls Arthur in a voice like honey laced with razorblades. “In midwinter. Sunset was over an hour ago, you dimwit.”

“There’s no need to be a prat about it!” replies Merlin, indignant. “Anyway, as you know I am your father’s assistant, and this is his office, so… anyway, I could ask you the same question. It’s not your office. What are you doing in here?”

For a moment, Merlin imagines that uncertainty flickers across Arthur’s eyes before he steps forward to crowd Merlin’s personal space. The hot sensation of Arthur’s breath on his neck sends all the curiosity fleeing from Merlin’s brain along with his blood supply, which is directed somewhere else entirely.

“Don’t be insolent with me,” growls Arthur. “You’re up to something. What have you got behind your back?”

“Nothing?” Merlin grins his most manic grin, the one he knows is guaranteed to make Arthur’s face darken with frustration and suppressed anger, and holds out his left hand, leaving the right one behind his back. “See?”

“And the other hand, idiot.”

“Nope. Nothing in that one either.” Widening his grin, Merlin swaps hands, waving at Arthur with his right hand for maximum effect.

“Both hands together, you bumbling bumpkin.” With an abrupt movement, Arthur reaches around Merlin to grab the wrist of his hidden left hand. Of course, both hands are empty.

“You’re sweating.” Arthur’s jaw clenches and he releases Merlin’s wrists but does not move away. “You’re definitely up to something.”

“It’s hot,” says Merlin, although that’s not the only reason why he’s sweating.

It could be the palpable heat that radiates from Arthur’s body. Or it could be the delayed effect of the inhibitor that is now coursing through Merlin’s body. Or the fact that he is, indeed, _up to something_. But he has a horrible suspicion that the most important factor is how his own treacherous body reacts to the proximity of all those muscles and all that ego, wrapped up in one tasty, handsome, gorgeous, arrogant, and above all unobtainable package. Because even in the unlikely event that a guy as physically attractive as Arthur is remotely interested in a scrawny-armed magic user like Merlin in the first place, there are a billion reasons why he is off limits.

“Ow!” Exhaling, Merlin makes a show of rubbing his wrists. “You big bully.”

“You can’t address me like that.” Arthur scowls, making his pretty face scrunch into lines that somehow make his jaw and cheekbones even more rugged. “I think you’re forgetting who I am.”

“Nope,” Merlin looks Arthur up and down, unable to suppress his appreciation for what he sees. “You’re still the same handsome prat with bloated sense of self-importance and an anger problem.”

“I don’t have an anger problem, Merlin.” Arthur purrs. “I have a _you_ problem.”

He crowds Merlin’s space again. His finely toned thighs press Merlin backwards until his bum fetches up against the wood of Uther’s desk.

Now, Merlin doesn’t have an anger problem either. Instead, he has an urgent, aroused Merlin problem. One that he’s not sure how to get rid of, not when Arthur’s eyes, which really are an unfeasible shade of blue, are trained on him as if he wants to unlock all the secrets of the universe.

Horribly turned on, Merlin swallows and licks his lips to buy time, noting how Arthur tracks the movement of his tongue with a hungry gaze that does nothing to make the problem go away. Quite the reverse. And Gods, Merlin finds it hot and terrifying at the same time, because Arthur is a Pendragon, right hand man to Merlin’s boss and secret enemy Uther.

But Arthur despises and distrusts Merlin, for some reason that Merlin cannot fathom.

After all, the prat has no idea that Merlin has magic. A glamour hides Merlin’s kryo-collar, which also remains firmly hidden beneath his shirt and tie at all times. And nor does Arthur have any inkling that unlike any other magic user, Merlin can over-ride his kryo-collar’s effects with just a thought. And Merlin can never let Arthur know any of it. Least of all, the fact that he longs to kiss away the pout from Arthur’s perfect pink lips.

Tamping down the part of him that mourns what could have been, Merlin bites his lip, and mutters complaints about entitled prats under his breath.

“Father may think you’re the bee’s knees, but you’re up to something,” Arthur hisses, grasping Merlin’s shoulders with hands so strong that they’ll leave marks, frustration making his tense jaw jut into a long curve. “I can tell. And I will find out what it is, and have you fired, and arrested.”

Horribly turned on, Merlin lets out an embarrassing whimper, but another brief sound at the door saves him. Arthur springs away. Cool air floods in behind Arthur’s retreating body.

“Father,” says Arthur.

“Arthur. Merlin.” Uther nods to them both.

But Uther is not alone. When Merlin sees who follows him, his mouth goes dry and he clings onto the desk behind him, legs threatening to buckle.

With a cold smile, in strides Dr Aredian Parker. Uther’s partner at Kryo Sidero laboratories. The brains behind the original inhibitor and the even more loathsome Kryo Sidero collar.

Merlin swallows down bile and forces himself to stand up straight. He has a part to play, here, and already curious eyes are on him. It would not do to falter now, not when he has earned Uther’s trust.

“Aredian - this is my assistant, Merlin Hunithson. And you know Arthur, of course.”

“Mr Hunithson.” When Aredian shakes Merlin’s hand, his grip is firm and dry and his glare is piercing. “That’s an unusual name.”

“Yes sir.” Merlin bites his lip to stop himself from saying anything more. He changed his name from Balinorson to Hunithson five years ago, when his kryo-collar was fitted. Partly out of respect for his mother, and partly to disguise his true identify. It made it easier for Gaius to falsify the records about his kryo-collar. Besides which, he sees no reason to keep any ties to the father he has never known.

“I have heard a lot about you,” Aredian carries on. “Uther says you are a wizard with filing.”

“I am very good at electronic organisation, Mr Aredian.” Merlin laughs. Realising that he’s betraying his nerves by fiddling with a piece of paper on Uther’s desk, he forces himself to be still. Concentrate, Merlin. “But, definitely no wizard. Oh, no. There’s none of that sort of madness going on within the walls of this office, I can assure you. Wouldn’t let any of those poor, mad souls near Uther’s computer, sir. They’d probably fry its circuits, haha.”

The lie comes easily now, after all these years of hiding, so much so that he can even enact a passable grimace and shudder to punctuate his words, making him appear to the outside world to be the very model of anti-magical disgust. After all, that is why Uther trusts him.

“Good, good.” Aredian’s stern mouth relaxes slightly, and he nods as if Merlin has passed some sort of test.

But Merlin does not let down his guard. This man, Aredian, can sniff out magic users faster than he can say “help the poor deviant”. Merlin has seen it happen—to his friend, Gilli. He only hopes that he had been sufficiently buried in the large crowd at the time for Aredian not to remember his face. After all, what happened to Gilli first showed him what kind of help Uther’s Kryo Sidero empire offers to tormented magic users. The kind of help that makes things horribly worse.

Freya had mentioned Aredian, too. 

Of course, they market the inhibitor under the title of “treatment” and use it to "help" magic users. In reality, though, underneath all the rhetoric about curing people of their problems, the inhibitor punishes magic. As soon as someone shows signs of "using magic in an uncontrolled or unethical way", they are sectioned, diagnosed as suffering from magic-induced psychosis, and medicated. As magic generally manifests during puberty, and no-one teaches adolescents how to control their magic, in reality, nearly all of them end up getting medicated in the most brutal way imaginable, with devastating consequences.

Flooded by sudden, unwelcome memories of his own experiences, Merlin shudders, then realises that everyone is still looking at him. He tries to disguise his discomfort by faking a yawn.

“You may go, Merlin.” Uther waves a dismissive hand. “It’s getting late.”

“Of course, sir.” Stumbling in his relief at getting away from Aredian’s ice-cold gaze, Merlin nods and puts his hand on the door handle. “Have a nice evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he backs out of the room, Uther and Aredian turn away from him, but Arthur’s narrowed eyes follow him. 

Merlin makes a show of walking noisily away from the door between his desk and Uther’s office, then tiptoes back, putting his ear to the keyhole, and reaching out with his magic. Their voices are too low to hear much, even with the spell that enhances his hearing. But he catches a few snatches of their conversation.

“…sure that it is safe?” Arthur is saying. “Kryo-collar-induced psychosis is still the number one…” He must have turned his back, because his voice goes all muffled.

“…best for all of them if they don’t have to wear a kryo, but we can’t…” says Uther. Again, Merlin only hears a snippet before a passing lorry obscures his speech.

Aredian, though, Merlin hears. Clearly enough to make a horrible cold feeling run tingling up his spine.

“Surely that doesn’t matter?” he says in that amused voice. “One more dead magic user is one less problem.”

The implication makes Merlin shiver. The sound of footsteps from within the office has him scuttling as quietly as he can to the chair behind his desk. Heart pounding, he sits staring at his screen, the picture of innocent concentration, as the three men stalk out.

Two of them do not even spare him a glance. They continue their journey down the grey-carpeted corridor, past the window on the left, towards the sleek atrium that houses the corporation’s lifts down to the ground floor.

But as Merlin watches, the third man stalks over to his desk and places both hands upon the opposite edge of it with an abrupt thud that makes Merlin wince.

Arthur peers at him through heavy lidded eyes. “I’m watching you, you slippery little weasel,” he says. “That was a nice display you put on there. But I know you were listening… And I will find out why. I promise you that.”

Blinking at Arthur through the glasses he wears for computer work, Merlin swallows hard. 

Over the next few weeks, Merlin tells himself that Arthur's suspicions do not matter. All Arthur’s shrewd-eyed glances and catty, pointed comments should not bother Merlin at all. All right, so the scrutiny is inconvenient. But as Uther’s PA, Merlin has an abundant supply of excuses for being in Uther’s office at random times of the day and night, some of them even reasonable.

But deep in Merlin’s psyche lurks an eagerness to please that makes it deeply unpleasant for him always to feel the weight of Arthur’s distrustful, scornful gaze on the back of his neck.

And then there’s the way that Merlin’s magic threatens to betray him whenever Arthur walks into the room. No matter how much he tells himself that the opinion of a supercilious, magic-hating brat should be as nothing to him, his magic seems to find Arthur’s presence soothing and wants to do stupid things to impress him all the time. It is like a puppy, panting and ecstatic at the very idea of seeing its master and showing him a new trick. Sometimes, when his magic wants to mould itself to every whim the prat shows, by pulling chairs out for him or summoning sugar for his coffee, Merlin even finds himself thanking his lucky stars for the kryo-collar that forces him to keep it under wraps.

For Merlin as for other minor magic users, his kryo-collar keeps his dose of Kryo Sidero topped up. There are not enough consultant magical neurologists to meet demand, so his inhibitor levels only get checked annually. As there are only a handful of MRI scanners capable of detecting magical activity, his brain never gets scanned at all. Which is just as well, given how playfully his magic has been acting lately, especially in Arthur's presence. 

Several times over the past couple of weeks, Merlin has been on the edge of gaining access to Uther’s office, only to be thwarted when he found Arthur already in there. Organising files, or so he says, although that is Merlin’s job. Or it would be, if he could ever access the filing cabinets without Arthur glowering at him with those hot, blue eyes of his.

This morning Merlin tries to sneak in early, before even Uther gets to the office, under the false and not very convincing pretence that he needs to fix up Uther’s schedule for the upcoming trip to Mercia. Before he uses his magic to open the door to Uther’s office from the ante-room where his desk sits, an instinct prompts Merlin to send out a tendril of Sight first. And what a good thing he does, because the room is occupied. His magic, detecting its occupant, goes off into a frenzy of ecstatic skin-tingling.

“Cut that out,” mutters Merlin under his breath as he takes a step back from the door. His magic settles to a sort of maddening itch under his fingernails. Closing his eyes, he forces his heart to still using a breathing exercise. The door to Uther’s office opens inwards, revealing a startled-looking Arthur.

“Merlin.” Arthur flushes. “I was just… what are you doing in this early?”

“Sorting out stuff.” Merlin shrugs, and frowns. “Your father has a meeting with Aredian at nine. What have you got there?”

Arthur is holding something behind his back. “None of your business.” He stalks off.

He thinks nothing of it until later, when Aredian and Uther enter Uther's office and instruct Merlin to keep everyone away. Even—or in fact, especially—Arthur.

With a dutiful nod, Merlin closes the outer door that separates Merlin’s reception office from the corridor. He sits at his desk, closes his eyes and probes with a curious tendril of magic. But Aredian must be carrying some kind of anti-magic blocker. Merlin cannot hear a thing. The effort makes his collar burn with an intense cold.

He decides to listen with at the door instead. Remembering how he nearly got caught last time, he stands and walks as quietly as he can to Uther’s door before bending to put his ear to the keyhole.

“…no-one is above suspicion, especially…” Aredian is saying. His voice is masked for a moment or two by a passing siren on the street outside before Merlin hears the rest. “…Arthur’s sympathies lie? Have you seen where he goes on a Friday morning?”

Intrigued, Merlin crouches a little lower, trying to catch Uther’s reply.

“…really necessary? Arthur has proved his loyalty…”

“…loyal to whom? You have to admit that since mor—”

Just then, the phone rings. Cursing under his breath, Merlin tiptoes over to the desk to answer. By the time he gets back to the door, the conversation has turned to Aredian’s boasts about all the witches that he has found. Merlin retreats, settling himself down behind his desk to ponder the implications of what he overheard.

Arthur’s loyalty is under question. And in particular his activities on a Friday. Maybe Arthur's Friday activities will illuminate the Avalon project?

Over the next few days, he observes Arthur’s movements. Sure enough, every day that week, the man is in the office by seven thirty sharp. But on the Friday, he rushes in at nine fifteen, looking flustered and out of breath. Where has he been?

Merlin wishes he could ask Gaius, but they had agreed that it would not be safe. The brief was clear. Get in, find out what you can, then leave. So he could not call his mentor, let alone email him. Instead, he has to mull things over alone.

He has to find out what Aredian is planning. Each day, he walks back to his tiny bedsit, to his surly room-mate, willing his heart rate to match the steady pace of his feet on the pavement, and lets his mind chew over the facts. What is the Avalon project? Is it a cure for the Kryo Sidero's effects? If Aredian is involved, that seems unlikely. Plus, the Avalon folder was in Uther’s safe. So, why was it empty? Where does Arthur fit in to this? And why is Aredian trying to undermine Arthur’s relationship with Uther?

Slowly, over the week, a plan forms and crystallises in Merlin’s head. And the following Friday he puts it into practice. But what he finds shocks him to the core.


	2. Chapter 2

Luckily, when Merlin's magic was discovered , he had already started to put in place all the mental disciplines that Gaius taught him, so that the authorities failed to detect his strength. But despite all that, they caught him. And in the stupidest possible way, too. It was his own fault for giving in to his desire to take a bully down.

It was one of those cloudless days in summer after their A-levels, a day when it felt like nothing could ever go wrong. Nothing, that is, until Valiant, the class bully, came up to their rainbow fundraiser stand at the local Lions Club fete, and started hassling Gilli and Freya. Wanting to teach the git a lesson, Merlin made the mistake of halting time for a moment so that he could find out what the outcome of the tug of war competition would be, and place a sizeable bet on it. It was enormously satisfying winning a huge wad of cash from the crowing bastard. But Valiant saw his eyes flash. The git reported Merlin for "using magic in an uncontrolled or unethical way", which officially meant that the authorities could slap a collar on him.

Thanks to Gaius, he blocked the medics from detecting his true potential. The authorities ascribed his win to luck. Putting him down as another non-threatening, puberty-triggered clairvoyant, they injected him with the inhibitor and then slapped on a standard, low-dose, slow-release kryo-collar.

Five years on, and most of the time his kryo-collar is a minor annoyance. But when he overstretches himself, the inhibitor really starts to kick in. If only the same could be said for Gilli, or the rest of the poor unfortunates who ended up homeless and psychotic because they were unable to adapt.

Today, Merlin steps out into a cold but sunny Friday morning in early January, with the snowdrops peeping out through the frost. Having earlier nicked Arthur’s address out of Uther’s iPhone contacts, he waits, disguised with a low-key glamour, outside the sleek block of flats where Arthur lives. For what seems like hours he sits, shivering in silence, in his flat mate Will’s cranky old Volvo. Shivering because the heating system only works with the engine on, and in silence because the car only has a Blaupunkt cassette player that might have been state of the art in the nineteen eighties, but is now probably worth taking in to Antique Roadshow as a collector’s item.

He hopes the damned car will not conk out altogether. Persuading Will to lend it to him cost him an arm and a leg.

Of course, Arthur drives to work in a shiny new Jaguar, and uses his own allocated parking space, rather than taking the bus like most of the staff. So, to tail Arthur, Merlin needs a car. He only wishes that Will’s Volvo was a little bit less conspicuous.

But luckily, Arthur doesn’t spare him a glance as he drives out from the subterranean car park in the sleek block of flats. Merlin eases the Volvo into gear with a muttered imprecation, and follows on at a slow pace, training his sixth sense on Arthur.

Normally, Arthur would turn down Camelot High Street and then leave the town centre to head out to the industrial estate where Uther’s labs are located. But today is Friday. And on Fridays, Arthur goes somewhere secret. So, he drives straight past Camelot High Street and keeps driving. Good. Unsure of his ultimate destination, Merlin expects Arthur to meet a lover in an upmarket part of town. But instead, the car turns towards a downtrodden area of the city, tracking a road lined with fried chicken shops and kebab houses. Then it turns into a tiny, unmetalled car park, riddled with pot holes and littered with discarded take-away packaging.

Merlin slows and frowns, uncertain of what to do next. Instead of following Arthur into the tiny car park, he parks further up the street, next to a boarded-up shop.

A strong smell of frying food fills the air. Wrinkling his nose, he mooches along the pavement, the hood of his jumper drawn up over his head to keep his face hidden.

He rounds a corner just in time to see Arthur disappearing through a door with a cracked-glass window. Still a few yards behind, Merlin steps up to the warped aluminium frame. He frowns at a rusty sign, which once indicated what lies inside. Although the lettering has fallen off, rusty outlines of the fallen letters spell out the name.  _Taliesin Thomas Shelter for the Homeless_. 

Taliesin Thomas is dead now. He was a famous magical activist, who set up a network of volunteers to provide shelter for destitute magic users, otherwise known as the Tally Army. He campaigned against the use of Kryo Sidero and kryo-collars. He was detained years ago, on what many magic users consider to be a jumped up charge, and died in prison. But still, the Tally Army marches on. 

Merlin shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back onto his heels. Why the hell would Arthur visit a place like this? But Merlin cannot stay to find out more. His invented dentist's appointment will only buy him half an hour. 

Rapid footsteps tap on the pavement behind. Two people round the corner. Merlin steps back to let two them pass. After nodding at him in acknowledgement, they carry on their conversation. 

“…the Rising Sun, later?” A tall man with strawberry blond hair and a matching beard puts his finger to the doorbell. There's a distant buzzing sound inside the building. “Arthur’s bringing some woman along.”

Arthur? _His_ Arthur? Does he have a date? It shouldn't make Merlin's heart sink, but it does. 

“A woman, eh? That's outside his comfort zone!” His companion tosses back sleek, brown hair.

“Oh, she's not a date. Strictly business, he says.”

Not a date, then. Is Arthur single? 

The other man huffs out a laugh. “Does she know that? When was the last time he had a date, anyway?”

“It's been a while, certainly…”

Merlin is so busy eavesdropping that he doesn't realise for a moment that the two men have turned to him and are eyeing him curiously.

“Hi. I'm Gwaine. Are you coming in?" says the brown-haired one. "New volunteer? We're short for the breakfast shift!”

Merlin’s jaw drops open. Of all the things Arthur could be doing on a Friday before work, he is not expecting that! “Breakfast? Volunteer?”

“Aye.” Gwaine grins with an open, infectious sort of joviality that is instantly charming. “Or… wait. Are you a punter? You look like you could do with a meal, to be frank!”

“Maybe next time.” Merlin, returns his grin before remembering that he is on a mission. His grin falters. He hopes his glamour remains intact. “Just… um… need to um… post something.” He pats his pockets. "Damn! Forgot to bring it! Got to go!"

“Sure we can’t change your mind?”

“Sorry!” Merlin taps his wristwatch. “Working!”

“Shame. You’ve got such a nice smile. I’m sure you’ll be a big hit.”

“Leave him alone, Gwaine.” His companion shrugs. “Sorry about my mate. He can’t help it. He’s Irish and he thinks he’s got the gift of the gab. He hasn’t.”

“Oi! I object to that, Leon, you great hairy lump." Gwaine turns back to Merlin and winks. "Maybe next week, then?” 

Merlin barks out a laugh. “Maybe.”

“Great. We’ll tell Arthur, our mate, we’ve got another recruit.” Gwaine looks Merlin up and down with an air of frank appraisal that makes heat creep over his cheeks.

Just then, a familiar golden-haired prat looms in the corridor behind the broken glass window.

“Er. Okay!” Alarmed, Merlin starts backing away, tucking his chin into his hoodie, and ducking his head to hide his face. “Bye!”

Trying to be casual, he lifts a hand in farewell and turns his back, sauntering away as fast as he can without looking too suspicious. Partly out of curiosity, and partly out of the need to give himself a legitimate reason for hiding his face, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and looks down at it as he walks, tapping out the name of the facility into a search engine, to confirm his staggering conclusion.

Arthur is secretly volunteering for a magical charity for the destitute and homeless.

Why? Merlin’s heart pounds and his mouth goes dry. Could he have got Arthur’s loyalties wrong all along? Or is there something more sinister going on? Maybe the research and development team at the company are looking for hopeless magical subjects to experiment on. Who knows what horrors could befall? 

Merlin just cannot work Arthur out. He dares not ask for more information in the centre. That would blow his cover completely. But what can he do? Not for the first time, he wishes he could talk things over with Gaius. But Gaius needs to remain above all this subterfuge. His research is too important to jeopardise it with an ill-advised phone call. Besides which, the way Arthur makes him _feel_ confuses him. And Merlin just cannot confide in Gaius about things like that. 

In bed that night, he closes his eyes and imagines Freya's kind face, all sweet and sly as it had been before things went horrible and he lost her forever.

“I can’t help how I feel about him,” he whispers into the dark. “But I don’t know what he’s up to. What would you do, Frey?”

But she does not answer.

She never will.

That evening, bored, lonely, and frustrated by his lack of progress, he decides to head out to Camelot’s finest cocktail bar, the Rising Sun, hoping to find out more about Arthur’s mystery date. He slips in early, wrapped in a coat and a long scarf to hide his glamour-disguised collar. The bar has a pleasantly retro vibe to it, with its art deco booths and mirrors, and a drinks menu that is both up-to-date and eye-bogglingly expensive. It’s not too busy yet, and there’s no sign of Arthur or his friends.

He finds two stools next to the bar. He puts his coat on one of them, resolving to pretend that he’s got a date of his own. As usual, Percival the barman is wearing a sleeveless t-shirt which displays his arms nicely as he polishes the glasses and optics between orders.

“Another one of those?” Percival nods at Merlin’s glass.

“Er… maybe in a minute or two.”

Frowning as he lifts his glass, Merlin mentally calculates how many more espresso martinis he can afford. It’s a depressingly quick calculation. He takes a tiny sip, mournfully licking his lips at its deliciousness, before replacing his glass on the counter.

Ah, well. Kryo-collared magic users who are trying to disguise their status probably need to keep their wits about them anyway. He hates working for Uther, but he has to keep up the facade for a little longer. He cannot afford to be discovered. The consequences could be catastrophic - and not only for him, either. So much rides on his success. So many people depend on him. But Arthur has been suspicious of him ever since that near miss with the safe. Ugh. It’s so frustrating.

Merlin really needs a breakthrough so he can ditch this damned job. Thus resolved, he lifts his glass to his lips.

Bang on cue, a slap on his shoulder makes his drink slosh around and nearly spill.

“Careful, you insensitive oaf!” yells Merlin, turning to face the culprit, coming face to face with the slightly flushed and beaming face of his boss’s son.

God. Wearing a pair of tailored dark grey trousers and a simple white henley that clings to his sculpted pectoral muscles, Arthur looks so good that Merlin starts to salivate. The shirt is dragged down in the middle by a pair of totally unnecessary Aviator sunglasses. 

Merlin licks his lips. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t our very own office idiot!” drawls Arthur in a silken voice, full of the sort of bonhomie that can only be a result of a few too many drinks coupled with an already overwhelming sense of entitledness. “With all his friends.” With a sweep of his hand, he indicates the empty bar stool with Merlin’s coat on it. “Here, Nimueh, you can have this seat.”

The woman should be attractive, with her large blue eyes and plump red lips, but something simmers beneath the surface, an echo of dark magic that makes Merlin's nostrils flare. She simpers at Arthur, laughing at his unfunny joke, but her smile does not reach her eyes.

“Actually, I’m, um... waiting for someone.” Merlin plasters a smile to his face to disguise his unease and places his hand on top of the coat.

“Of course you are.” Sarcasm makes Arthur's lip curl. “But until your friend arrives, I’m sure you won’t mind letting Nimueh sit down. Nimueh, this is Merlin, my father’s so-called assistant. He won’t mind you taking this seat, will you Merlin?” Arthur smirks and waves a wad of notes to attract the barkeep’s attention. Prat.

Merlin debates chucking the remains of his drink at him, and giving the whole evening up as a bad bet, but he swallows down his irritation. He needs to stop reacting emotionally to the prat, and use his brain instead. This Nimueh could hold information vital to his project. 

“Of course.” Merlin removes his coat from the stool and places it on his lap. “Here.”

“Thank you,  _Arthur_.” The woman, who must be Nimueh, lifts her chin and flashes Arthur an insincere smile. “Always the gentleman.”

She peers down her nose at Merlin before settling on the chair. With her back to him.

Jesus! Not content with thanking Arthur for Merlin’s generous gesture, she is giving Merlin the cold shoulder now. How rude! Merlin’s jaw actually drops.

“Oh, thank you Merlin,” Merlin says to the back of her head. “Nice to meet you, Merlin. How very generous of you to give up your friend’s seat, Merlin. Can I get you a drink for the trouble, Merlin?”

“Oh, do stop moaning.” Arthur rolls his eyes, but he buys Merlin a drink.

Arthur and Nimueh look out across the bar as if they are waiting for someone. Maybe they are waiting for Arthur’s friends from the Taliesin Thomas centre. The bright lights behind the bar’s optics, making Arthur's blond hair glow like a halo.

A few minutes later, once their drinks have arrived, Nimueh points at someone on the dance floor who’s doing an enthusiastic cossack dance routine. While Arthur’s head is turned she pulls something out of her bag, and tips it into his drink.

She’s done it so quickly that Merlin barely had a chance to register the movement, but he’s sure of what he’s seen. As Arthur lifts his glass to his lips, Nimueh focusses her rapt attention on Arthur’s mouth.

Merlin must stop Arthur from drinking that cocktail. The guy may be a conceited arse, but no-one deserves to have their drink spiked.

“Hey!” Merlin shouts, holding out a hand as Arthur tilts back his chin. “Don’t drink that, Arthur!” But the music is too loud, and the glass reaches Arthur's lips.

Without stopping to think, Merlin hurls himself at Arthur, barreling him to the ground. Arthur’s drink goes flying. He lies on the floor with Merlin on top of him, the remains of his vivid orange cocktail soaking into the white fabric of his abused Henley.

 

“You utter buffoon!” yells Arthur into Merlin’s face, bucking and heaving to dislodge Merlin from his chest. “That’ll stain! It’s ruined!” His muscles flex, hot and hard beneath Merlin's body. 

“Sorry, but she spiked your drink!” Pushing himself to his feet, Merlin points at Nimueh

She glares at him. To say her expression was frosty would be overestimating its warmth. “Don’t be absurd.” Her brows knit tightly together. “You disgusting little worm. I’ll have you arrested for slander.”

“For it to be slander, it would have to be untrue,” says a new voice. Everyone turns to Percival.

“What did you just say?” sneers Nimueh. “I will sue you, too.”

“You.” Percival seems unfazed by her threat. “I watched you. I don’t know what you put in his drink, but I suspect he’d do well to chuck it.”

“As if anyone would believe a knuckle-headed Neanderthal like you,” she spits, even as she starts to edge towards the door.

“She’s trying to get away,” says Merlin, alarmed. “Stop her!”

He reaches out with a hand, but she’s too fast. She lobs what’s left of her own drink at Merlin and makes a sprint for it.

Merlin will say this for Arthur. He may be a stuck-up, entitled posho, born with probably not just spoons but an entire silver cutlery set wedged into his mouth, but he knows when to act fast.

Arthur's jaw sets into a hard line. Within less than half a second, he blocks Nimueh’s exit, grabbing her by the elbow and twisting it behind her, so that she fetches up against the bar. As she tries to shake him off, he pulls her closer instead so that she bends forward over the bar, struggling against Arthur’s grip. A circle of curious eyes gathers, watching.

“Get off me, you brute!” she yells over her shoulder, legs flailing out behind her as she bucks and squirms. “I didn’t do anything! They’re lying, both of them. They’re in cahoots! I’ll sue you all for false imprisonment!”

“Very well then.” Arthur bares his teeth. “Merlin here will call the police. And then we’ll see who’s telling the truth.”

“Argh,” she screeches. “Typical bloody self-righteous Pendragon. I hope you all rot, especially your vile beast of a father.”

She says something else that Merlin does not quite catch. A burst of dark energy flares against Merlin’s skin. Magic.

“Arthur, step away from her!” Merlin yells. “She has magic! She’s going to…”

Too late. Nimueh’s eyes flash a vivid, triumphant orange. The music stops. Into the sudden silence, Arthur cries out, releasing Nimueh as if burned, and then all the lights go out.

 

Merlin pauses to rub clammy hands on his suit trousers. Meetings at half past seven in on a Monday morning are never something to look forward to, and this one promises to be worse than most. Ever since his battery of alarms went off at six, a sense of doom has been hanging over him. Plus, he is still exhausted from the weekend - both the evening out that went so pear shaped, and the long night of interrogation that followed. What with all the magic he has used to fend off any devices that might detect his residual magic, his kryo-collar is chafing the tender skin beneath his shirt.

He raps on Uther’s door with a tentative fist. After the police interviewed him, they arrested the woman. But Merlin is not sure whether Uther suspects him. 

“Come,” says Uther.

With a gulp, Merlin steels himself for a confrontation. Because Uther has company. 

“Arthur,” blurts Merlin in surprise.

Arthur just stands there, glaring, back to the wall, arms folded.

“Come in, boy. Don’t look so nervous. You did well.” Uther settles back in his chair, pen tapping against his teeth. “The lab reports are back already. It appears the foolhardy witch had attempted to spike Arthur’s drink with a powdered form of Kryo Sidero. God knows what she had planned for him afterwards.”

“But Arthur has no magic!” Not reassured by Uther's words, Merlin bites back a shiver. “Why would someone do that?”

Non magic-users react unpredictably to the inhibitor. With no magical synapses for it to block, it attacks other neural pathways instead. First it affects motor function, making people temporarily uncoordinated or even, with a high dose, paralysed and severe pain. Worse than that, it can stick around, affecting moods and emotions, with sometimes devastating consequences. The same thing happens if they give a high dose to magic users with only a few magical synapses, like Gilli. The brain can be overwhelmed… which can lead to horrible mental health issues.

“It would seem that she is a member of a group who have a grudge against our institute,” Uther replies calmly. “Under interrogation, she revealed that they planned to kidnap Arthur and make unreasonable demands.”

Kidnap? Merlin closes his eye and wills himself not to shudder. Under the influence of the drug, Arthur would have been helpless. And Uther seems remarkably calm for someone whose son has apparently survived a potential kidnapping. Surely Uther should be—well, if not climbing the walls in fear for his son’s safety, at least anxious. But no. Uther is half smiling to himself in seeming triumph. But then, a vein ticks in Uther’s neck and his jaw twitches.

Ah. Not so calm, then. 

“It’s a good thing that Merlin was there, Arthur,” says Uther, his nonchalant tones betraying a hint of steel. “Why were you even meeting that woman?”

“She contacted me to say she might have information that could help mor—” His eyes flick over to where Merlin is standing in the doorway. “More magic users.” 

“Arthur, that was foolish. You have no business consorting with witches.”

“I was not to know that she was a witch, father.” Arthur, like his father, is speaking in a low, measured, almost pleasant voice. But like his father, he has tells. His foot taps on the floor, and his mouth draws closed into a tense moue.

“And yet, somehow, Merlin knew.” Uther nods over to Merlin, and beckons with one finger. “Come in, boy. Close the door.”

“Me?” Dread sends icy tentacles curling down Merlin’s spine. His magic crackles as if alerted to imminent danger. 

“I don’t see anyone else standing there, do you?” drawls Arthur.

Uther shushes him, and waves towards the chair opposite his desk. “Tell me again what happened on Saturday.”

“Um.” Merlin sits, bum on the edge of the chair, back ramrod straight, wiping his sweaty hands on his knees. “What do you want to know?”

“When did you first guess that the witch was up to something?” Uther leans forward, elbow on his desk.

 _She stank of the sort of dark magic that makes my hackles rise and I hated her the moment she walked into the room,_ Merlin does not say.

“Um,” he says again instead, searching the ceiling for acceptable answers. “I suppose there was something a bit off about her from the start.”

“Oh, God, Father, do we have to listen to—”

“Shh. Go on, Merlin.” Uther flaps a hand.

“She was wearing a wrap on her head, which is culturally inappropriate,” Merlin flounders. “I mean, I’ve got mates who are African, right? And you can tell that she’s got no connection with—”

“You don’t know that!” says Arthur. “You just took a dislike to her because she took your mate’s chair, and that highlighted how rude you were being. Go on, admit it.”

“I was not being rude!” objects Merlin. “She was the rude one! And anyway, I’m telling the truth. There was something weird about her. I don’t know what it was.” That was a lie. He knew exactly what it was. “Call it an instinct, if you will. Or a… a… a funny feeling.”

“Jesus.” Arthur rolls his eyes. 

“Nothing magical, I hope,” says Uther, with a mirthless grin.

“No!” protests Merlin. “Of course not! I…”

“Of course not,” Uther chuckles. “You’re a loyal employee, Merlin. And whatever your instinct was, we are deeply indebted to you. Aren’t we Arthur.”

“Yes sir.” Arthur slams his mouth shut and his eyes narrow into twin slits of dislike.

Merlin’s heart sinks and his stomach swoops. No-one enjoys being disliked, but another reason for his unhappiness bubbles away beneath the surface, something to do with Arthur’s craggy jawline and the hollow of his cheekbones and his occasional soft, lopsided smile. But Merlin cannot admit any of this to himself for fear that he will start admitting that he is half in love with the git, and then where will he be? So instead, he returns Arthur’s icy glare and presses his own mouth into a mutinous, disapproving line.

“The witch was apprehended, of course.” Uther steeples his fingers and peers at Merlin over the top of them. “I have it on good authority that after the police administered Kryo Sidero, she became very docile and is now under the sedation of a brand new kryo-collar. Another magic user has been helped, and we have you to thank for that.”

“Thank you, sir.” Merlin looks at his fingers, so that his hair flops down over his face, swallowing down a lump of dismay. His magic writhes in his belly and his collar stabs into his neck with icy little shocks as it sends out a warning dose of Kryo Sidero into his bloodstream.

Clenching his jaw, he remembers having a large dose of that stuff administered, as Uther so blandly puts it. Even just the memory of his pain makes him shudder.

“I understand your alarm,” Uther goes on.

Merlin damned well hopes not. He nods, gaze still averted, while he tries to reassemble his expression into something that approximates agreement. When he looks up again, Arthur is staring straight at him.

“No doubt there are others out there,” Uther carries on. “You would do well to be on your guard, Arthur.”

“Yes, Father,” says Arthur, without removing his accusing gaze from Merlin’s face.

“Of course, sir,” echoes Merlin.

Uther rants. He bemoans the inability of the authorities to find and restrain the magic users. The current systems need to be improved so that uncollared witches and warlocks no longer fall through the cracks. It would all be so much easier if magic users just gave themselves up, so that the authorities could best work out how to help them to get rid of their magic. He understands that it’s not their fault if they’re born with magic, he only wants to help people, but if they choose to use it then they have only themselves to blame.

Of course, Uther always couches things in those terms. As if locking up someone’s powers with a neuro-inhibitor was helping them, rather than doing them irreversible mental damage that can lead so often to psychosis, like the poor souls in that institution where Arthur volunteers.

And isn’t that a strange thing? Does Uther know about it? The more Merlin ponders Arthur’s involvement, the odder it looks. Uther’s most staunch supporter, his own son, volunteering at a facility that helps the very people that Uther’s drugs have put in there in the first place?

There are just too many conflicting thoughts swirling around in his head. He nods and smiles at Uther’s tirade, half listening, as he tries to process all the new information.

It takes him a while to realise that he’s been staring at Arthur for at least ten seconds… and Arthur is still staring right back, with a heavy-lidded expression that Merlin interprets as dislike laced with an unhealthy curiosity.

Flushing, Merlin looks down, schooling his face to be as blank as possible. Has he given something away with his body language? His magic, picking up on Arthur’s evident discomfort, bubbles under his skin, aching to reach out and touch, wanting to soothe away the pained notch between Arthur’s eyes.

The day passes in a fog of anxiety, during which his magic becomes if anything even more restless. By the time five o’clock finally rolls around, his skull is pounding from the effort of keeping his magic locked away. He grabs his bag and coat with gratitude and leaves as soon as he can, plastering a smile to his face as he waves goodbye to Daegal on the reception desk, letting it drop immediately when he gets outside. It’s a ten-minute walk to his bus stop, but he’s grateful really, because it gives him a chance of some fresh air.

The bus isn’t due for a good twenty minutes, so he takes his usual route, passing the boarded-up betting shop. There’s a solitary figure hunched on the steps outside, wrapped in blankets, cupped hands outstretched. Her hair is matted and her face emaciated. A kryo-collar clings to the inflamed skin of her throat. She gazes with unfocused, bleary eyes at her feet.

“Spare some change, sir?” she whispers, in a hopeless voice as if expecting a negative answer.

Merlin pauses here for a second, taking a moment to scan the streets to make sure he hasn’t been followed, before kneeling and rummaging in his bag.

“Hi, Drea,” he says.

She looks up, as if surprised to be answered. “Merlin!” She smiles back at him.

“Sorry I haven’t been for a couple of days. I brought you a pasty. Here!”

She takes it and nibbles at the pasty, eyes darting right and left.

“There.” Merlin smiles to reassure her. He pulls out a flask of coffee and two paper cups, pouring one for her and one for himself, and squats by her side, blowing on the hot liquid. “How’ve you been?”

“Not bad,” she whispers. He knows she is lying, but he cannot do anything to help, beyond treating her with compassion and civility. He talks to her, then. Tells her stupid things, and shows her a video on his phone, of a very small and very fierce kitten. The video makes her smile, which makes him remember that she cannot be more than about sixteen years old.

“Have you got somewhere safe to sleep, tonight?” he says, heart aching. “Can I help you find somewhere?”

“I’m all right,” she replies, shrinking into herself, eyes round with fear.

“Have you tried the Taliesin Thomas Shelter? I could call them for you.”

“They’re full,” she says. “I’m okay. Thanks for the pasty and the coffee.” She wraps her hands around her knees and looks down at the floor.

“All right,” he says. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

She nods.

It’s not right, leaving her here like this. He grinds his teeth, and as he walks away, blinks out a protection spell from behind his eyelids. There. At least no-one will interfere with her tonight.

One day, he thinks with a fierce intensity that surprises him. One day he will find a way to help all the unnecessarily destitute orphans like Drea, before they end up like Freya did. And he will help them to find somewhere they belong. In the meantime, he will do what he can.

When he opens his eyes, he glimpses a flash of colour in a shop window. He turns his head, but there’s nothing there.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Back when all this started, Gaius warned Merlin against spending too much time with people from his regular life. But at the same time, he did need a convincing back story, so he should go and visit his mum sometimes.

Right now, with Uther at a conference, Merlin's investigation has stalled. So, he decides to visit his mum for the weekend. He has not seen her for ages and besides, his mum might know something about the Taliesin Thomas Shelters. Hunith does a lot for local charities, after all. She is always trying to get Merlin to volunteer for various groups.  

When he wakes, the sound of birdsong and the smell of cooking bacon disorients him for a moment. Birdsong is in short supply in the centre of Camelot. He blinks at the ceiling before remembering that he is at home in his rickety old single bed in Ealdor. His mother must be cooking breakfast. He turns over, letting the comfort of the clean sheets and the warmth of the sun on his duvet lull him back into slumber, eking out the moment, until, with the kind of inevitability of an iceberg calving from the rapidly melting Greenland ice-sheet, the quiet squeak of rubber wheels on the wooden floor outside heralds the arrival of his mother’s wheelchair.

A moment later, Hunith raps on his door.

“Up you get, sleeping beauty,” she calls. “There’s breakfast but it’s in the kitchen, so that’s where you had better be in the next ten minutes, or I’ll eat it all myself.”

It is an idle threat, and they both know it; despite the fact that only the two of them are home, Hunith will have made enough breakfast to feed if not a small army then at least a five-a-side football team. Besides, she does not eat bacon. 

“Mmm,” he hums, sliding out from beneath his covers and landing with a bump on the threadbare carpet. He rakes his hair with an idle hand and yawns. “Coming.”

“You’ll catch flies,” she admonishes. “Now come in and sit down.”

“Change the record, this one’s broken.” Merlin sits at the rickety old kitchen table, tracing the familiar blemishes on it with a fond finger. She has set it for him, and there’s a steaming cup of coffee already on the mat. “Anyway, you should be the one letting me cook you breakfast.”

“I don’t need you to help! I’m completely self-sufficient here, see.”

“I know that, mum!” He rolls his eyes. His mother has always been fiercely independent, even since her condition began to deteriorate. “But I don’t want you waiting on me hand and foot!”

“Makes a change, you didn’t seem to mind when you were a kid!” She puts a dollop of fruit compote into her bowl, adding oats and almond milk. "Eat up!" 

“That was different!”

She leans forward and clasps his hand between two of hers. “I know. And just you being here is a help. Honestly.”

He shovels the remnants of his poached egg into his face, making appreciative noises, all the while trying to think of a way to start the conversation about the Taliesin Thomas Shelters without sounding like it’s the only reason why he’s here.

“Go on.” Hunith gestures at his fork, which is hovering mid-way between his mouth and plate. “Spit it out. And I don’t mean the egg, either.”

Merlin sighs, laying down his cutlery. His mother knows him too well.

“I wanted to ask you what you know about the Taliesin Thomas Shelters,” he says, because there is no point skirting around the subject when she knows he wants something.

“The Tally Army?” She frowns. “Why do you want to know about them? Thinking of volunteering? It would be a good thing to do. Open your eyes a bit, about what's going on out there. I think they’re the only ones trying to mop up the tide of human misery that’s on our streets, these days.” She blows on her chamomile tea, making the surface wrinkle, before taking a deep swig.

“My… there’s this guy… um. It’s complicated.” Merlin shrugs. “Um. I think he’s volunteering there, and I remember you mentioning them but I can’t quite remember what it is they do?”

Not wanting to endanger Hunith by involving her in the mission, he and Gaius had decided not to talk about Merlin’s real reason for working for Uther. But that makes it quite difficult for him to discuss what he needs to know without lying to his mum.

“You got your eye on a bloke, have you? If you’re that interested, why not go and ask the Tally Army themselves? There’s a branch right here, in Ealdor.”

“There is?” Merlin blinks at her, shocked. “I never noticed it before!”

“It used to be called something else, love. It was a government owned half-way-house, until recently. The Tally Army took it over couple of years ago. Now there are so many homeless magic users. ” Sighing, she puts her used plate on her lap before wheeling over to the sink, which is on an electronic hoist system so that she can lower it and work on washing up without straining her back. “I worry you’ll end up like them, sometimes.”

Merlin wants to comfort her, to promise that he and Gaius will fix all this. He swallows instead. “I’m fine, mum.”

“Hmm. You'll be fine as long as you keep out of trouble.” Wheeling back to the table to pick up her empty teacup, she shakes her head. “Anyway. If you like, I can give Finna a call and you can go over there. She’s always looking for more volunteers. I’ll tell her you’ll do a shift.”

“Oh, wow, mum, thanks, that would be great.”

“I’m sure she’d be grateful for the extra pair of hands,” Hunith hums before adding in an undertone. “However lazy they are.”

“Oi!”

“It’ll make up for you missing out on volunteering for Oxfam after your GCSEs.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope!” She smiles at him, and he grins back. “Well, before you go saving the world, come and help your old mum with the washing up.” 

“I am helping.” His grin widens. “Just me being here helps, you said so yourself.”

“Your smart mouth will get you in trouble one of these days, young fellow my lad!” She waggles a spatula at him. “Now get over here at once before I spank you with this.” She turns back to the washing up, without bothering to check that he is doing what he has been told. She knows. 

“Honestly, ever since you’ve got this new boyfriend, you’ve been insufferable.” A big burst of warmth floods through Merlin’s chest. He grins at the stubborn line of his mother’s back through the fabric at the rear of her wheelchair, and picks up his plate.

“Which reminds me, Merlin Bali— Hunithson. Who's this lad you've got your eye on at the Tally Army shelter, hmm? Are you going to bring a nice fella home for me to meet?”

"It's not like that!" Merlin groans, and mimes shooting himself in the head. Idiot. “This guy… it's for work, I swear! Remind me never to mention boyfriends in your presence again.”

“You can't fool me, cariad! I know you! You have met someone handsome, haven't you!”

“No!” he squeaks. A vision of Arthur flashes into his head, all arrogant and square-jawed and golden-haired. “Definitely not!”

“Thought so!” His mother winks at him, and to his mortification, he feels a blush start down at his neck and flash up his cheeks to the roots of his hair.

Merlin’s not entirely sure what to expect when, at ten o’clock on Sunday morning, his mum drops him off at the Ealdor branch of the Tally Army’s shelter for disadvantaged and homeless magic users. His heart is thumping when he presses the buzzer and the automatic door opens. His mum has gone off into town, in search of a disabled parking spot, so that she can meet the mysterious new boyfriend in her favourite cafe, and she will pick him at two.

A queue snakes around the reception desk. Several thin-looking people dressed in many layers are sitting on uncomfortable-looking, plastic chairs while the person at the front of the queue argues with the receptionist. A dull-eyed woman with lank hair shushes a fretting baby with gunged-up eyes. As Merlin catches her eye, he notices the collar around her neck; the dry skin framing it is swollen and raw.

“…please,” the guy at the front of the queue is saying. “I haven’t eaten for two days.” The desperation in his voice is obvious.

“I’m so sorry, Cerdan.” replies the tired-looking woman behind the desk. “I’d love to admit you, but we simply don’t have enough beds, and since you discharged yourself last week…”

“…I needed to see my mum! I promise I won’t…”

“…just sit down, and try to stay calm, there are other people with priority…

“… but I’m desperate…”

“…so are they…”

Into this cacophony, Merlin sidles, raising a timid finger.

“Erm, hello. I’m Merlin. I’m here to see Finna?”

Still tapping at the log book on the desk in front of her, the woman presses a button without looking at him. There is a loud buzzing noise.

“…no idea when we’ll have another space but…” An intercom, crackles and the woman leans forward to speak into a microphone. “Finna? Bloke here to see you!” Then she returns to her discussion. Meanwhile, the others sit patiently, no doubt happy to be out of the rain. “… you wait here and I’ll see if anyone has discharged themselves…”

A capable-looking woman in her early middle age emerges from the office behind the counter.

“I’m Finna.” She raises one brow in a sceptical arch that would give Gaius a run for his money. “So you’re Hunith’s boy?”

“Erm. Well. I’m hoping to spend some time here helping out, today?” Merlin shrugs and does his best to look helpful.

“Hmm. Well. I suppose I am short handed, although I could really do with regular, skilled volunteers, rather than… well…” Her voice tails off, as she looks him up and down a couple of times. She sighs and reaches into the desk, pulling out a clean, though worn apron.  “Here. Put this on. You can help in the kitchen. Follow me.”

She strides off down a dingy corridor with bare electric light bulbs. One of them flickers, and another is not working at all, so the space is mottled with shadows.

Merlin struggles with the apron as he follows her. Over in a room to the right, behind a closed door, someone is wailing in distress, a noise that jars his magic and makes alarmed prickles go up and down his spine. He gestures towards the door with one arm. “Er. Should we…?”

“Don’t worry. It’s only Alator. It’s best to just ignore him, I’m afraid. He’ll calm down when he’s had his sedative.” Her mouth twists down and she shakes her head, muttering under her breath.

“What happened to him?”

“Oh, the usual.” Her mouth takes on a thin, bitter line. “That bloody inhibitor. They gave him a huge dose, and then fitted one of those collars. He used to be so…” her throat works for a bit. “Anyway, it’s not worth fretting about now. It’s not like he’s alone. Until someone finds a way of blocking that inhibitor, him and all the other souls who’ve had doses too high for them will be in torment, unless he’s one of the lucky ones who is able to fight it off. It’s that bastard Uther Pendragon we need to pin down, and inject with some foul toxin. See how he likes having his head messed with.”

Merlin swallows, more sure than ever that he should not reveal who he is ostensibly working for. Instead, he nods and tries to look sympathetic as she pushes through a pair of swing doors into a canteen kitchen.

The place is filled with the typical buzz of an institutional canteen, the clatter of industrial sized trays warring with the hub-bub of people yelling out instructions. Steam fills the air. In front of him is a counter, which has six trays on it, each with a spoon sticking out. One person tries to keep up with demand as a long line of people holds up plates for small portions of what looks like a thin, grey porridge. Thinking of the generous helping of bacon and egg that he ate that morning, Merlin feels a terrible sense of guilt.

“Go on. Wash your hands and then you can help Aglain. With the residents’ porridge. Just do whatever he tells you, and keep your mouth shut.”

Aglain is a calm, handsome guy with prominently arched eyebrows and a kind smile. He deals with the punters carefully but efficiently, ensuring a fair distribution of the slop onto each plate. The people shuffle forward, eyes glazed, some of them muttering under their breaths, but without incident. It takes them about forty minutes to get to the end of the queue, by which time the plates of porridge are left only with crusty, unappetising dregs.

Seeing the dullness in their eyes and the way that their hands shake and their legs tremble, Merlin is reminded of Gilli after the collar had been fitted. How desperate people must be, to end up here, their magic taken from them, often their families and livelihoods as well, leaving only a broken husk of a person who lives from handout to handout. He burns with the desire to help them to get out of here, to fix the terror that haunts them and tortures them by the instrument of collars like the one he bears, and shivers.  

“Sobering, isn’t it?” says Aglain after the last one has been served.

“Yeah.” Merlin shakes his head. “I had no idea that there were so many.”

“Oh, only about one in every two magic users manages to adapt to the collar without trouble.” Aglain nods towards Merlin’s neck, where his scarf and glamour should be hiding his collar. “You seem to be doing all right though.”

Surprised, Merlin lifts and involuntary hand to touch it. How odd that Aglain can tell he wears a collar.

“Me?” He smiles wanly. “I’m barely detectable, apparently. There’s only a tiny dose in there.” He huffs out a nervous laugh. 

Aglain narrows his eyes. “Really? Normally it’s the ones with less magic who are the worst affected. You’ve been very lucky… or… it’s weird, but…” He pauses again. “There’s something about you. My skin is tingling. I haven’t felt that for years… maybe you’re more powerful than you think.”

Merlin gulps. “Um. No, I don’t think so? I’m just a minor clairvoyant, really.”

"Minor? And yet, you can still cast a glamour to hide your collar." Aglain is turning away to clear out the trays which are caked in porridge. “These will need scrubbing with wire wool.”

“Sure.” Merlin lifts a tray and carries it over to the sink. “Um. Do none of them recover?”

“Sadly, no. It’s a one way street.” Aglain sighs, swirling the wire wool around inside the stainless steel container with a bit of detergent and some hot water. “We do what we can for them, but there’s very little funding. Sometimes we have to lock them away, to keep themselves and others safe from harm. And sometimes...” He swallows and looks off into the distance, throat working.

“What happened?” says Merlin, as gently as he can.

“A dear friend. Mordred. He… he took his life. There was nothing we can do.”

“I’m so sorry.” Merlin swallows down a sudden pang. What horrors Uther’s brainchild has unleashed on the world. “I wish I could do something to help.”

Aglain trains eyes on Merlin that are fathomless and sad. For a second, a faint glow flashes behind Aglain’s irises. Merlin blinks, and it is gone. He must be imagining things.

Aglain opens his mouth for a moment and then closes it again, shaking his head, narrowing his eyes into a puzzled sort of half frown.

“Maybe you can, Merlin,” he says before turning back to the caked-up porridge pan.

Merlin has a lot to think about on his train journey home - and plenty of time for thinking, too, because the wi-fi on the train is not working, and his phone is out of juice. After spending a couple of minutes leafing through an out of date free newspaper, he resolves to do the crossword. But someone has already filled it in, so he tosses the damned thing to one side in disgust, blowing his lips out in a heavy exhale, and stares out of the window at the countryside as it grows greyer, more built up and less hilly with distance from his childhood home.

So. Arthur, Uther Pendragon’s son and head of magical research, is volunteering at a homeless shelter for magical users, without his father’s knowledge. But why? Arthur is his father’s biggest asset, Uther’s always droning on about that. With his genius for neuroscience and for pharmacology, he is the crown prince of the Kryo Sidero empire and his father makes no secret of that. But somehow he seems to have developed a secret conscience about it.

It is enough to make Merlin’s head hurt just thinking about it. He has always assumed that Arthur supports his father. But what if he has got it wrong? What if Arthur is secretly an ally of magic users? How must that feel, going against his father? Merlin’s father is just an absent, shadowy figure whose name he has rejected, and he cannot imagine ever going against his mum. 

If Arthur is helping magic users, it might explain a few things. Like, why Arthur seems to hate Merlin so much. And why Merlin found him skulking around in Uther’s office that one time. Was Arthur after something? Something strange is going on. Merlin cannot figure it out.

The one thing that Merlin is in no doubt over is the fact that Arthur hates Merlin’s guts and would love to see him gone. Merlin has accepted that. It goes with the assignment. You do not become indispensable to such a controversial figure as Uther without treading on some toes - many of those toes belonging to people who, if they only knew it, may even be on the same side as you. And Merlin has always known that. So why does it hurt so much to think that Arthur hates him?

Such are Merlin’s churning thoughts as the train rounds the corner approaching the next station, Avalon Junction. As if summoned by his brooding, Arthur stands on the platform with a sunny-faced woman whose hair falls in tightly curled ringlets around her shoulders. She looks vaguely familiar, but out of context Merlin cannot pinpoint where he has seen her before.

The train stops.

Frowning, Merlin sends out a brief charm to see if the sound of her voice will remind him where he has seen her before. He constructs a crude listening spell. The double layer of glass muffles everything, but it might work.

“…going into production soon…” Arthur is saying. “…final round of testing…”

“…brilliant. The sooner the better, Arthur. Don't worry, I'll pass on the letter in person…” She looks around as if checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning to whisper something in his ear.

Arthur laughs. His smile transforms his face, and the laughter makes his whole body shake with a sudden explosion of joy that makes Merlin’s magic do an ecstatic tango of longing. The woman laughs with him, tilting her head onto one side. Whoever she is, they know each other well.

As the automatic doors open, she flashes Arthur a sweet, sympathetic smile before kissing him on the cheek and giving him a wave.

Arthur steps on and enters his carriage. Of all the cursed luck! Thoughts in disarray, Merlin grabs the newspaper and pretends to be reading it, heart hammering as he slumps down on his seat.

Who is that woman? And what is this mysterious thing that will be going into production soon? Could it be something to do with the empty Avalon folder that Merlin found in Uther’s safe? Merlin’s stomach and mind churn while he considers the implications.

Of course there are only fifteen minutes to go until they get to Camelot, but still. He must spend it in Pendragon Junior’s company. He supposes he should not be that surprised. After all, they do both live and work in Camelot, and it is a Sunday evening, when people go home to do their chores before the start of the working week.

Of course Arthur sits down right opposite him, so close that their knees are almost touching, because fate hates him.

Merlin lowers his paper and flashes Arthur a manic grin. “Hello!”

Arthur stares, aghast, and then his face scrunches into a pained-looking scowl. “You!”

“Well, yes.” Rolling his eyes, Merlin lets the familiar, Arthur-induced annoyance wash over him. “It is _public_ transport, after all. The clue is in the name.”

“Huh.” Arthur’s mouth pulls up in an ugly sneer. “I knew I should have got a first-class ticket. To avoid the riff raff. I’m tempted to move now and take the fine.”

“Please do.” Merlin taps the paper. “I can’t concentrate with all that ego sitting over there.”

“Oh, so sorry to distract you, oh master crossword puzzler.” Smirking, Arthur glances down at the paper. “Amazing talent you have, finishing an already-complete upside-down crossword, without a pen.”

“Insufferable prat.” Flushing, Merlin replaces the newspaper on the seat next to him. “Maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.”

The doors have closed now and the train beeps to indicate that it is ready to pull away. Arthur waves out of the window.

“Go on,” says Merlin, spite making his mouth twist. “Blow your girlfriend a kiss, I won’t tell Daddy.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Arthur glowers. His eyes are a bright, resentful blue and his cheekbones and jaw form stark, bare outlines against the dirty glass of the train window. “I don’t—”

“Oh. Just good friends, are we? She looks far too good for you anyway.”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” Arthur sighs and pinches the skin between his eyebrows. “But yes, I happen to share your opinion that she is, as you put it, too good for me.”

He quirks a sudden, disarming smile that softens his eyes and shapes them into mirthful almonds. Damn him. Damn Arthur Pendragon for coming out with these sudden statements that make him seem like a decent human being. That makes things all the more difficult for Merlin. He’d much rather the family of his sworn enemy were all arrogant, cold-hearted bastards like Uther. But damn it, Arthur, has to keep ruining things by breaking out into charming smiles and kind statements and flashes of unexpected humility. 

“Not to mention,” Arthur carries on, in a chatty tone that is far more than Merlin deserves, and only makes him feel more like a complete git for all his deceptions. “She’s engaged to one of my closest friends. Not that that’s any of your business, either.”

“I suppose not.” Wrong-footed, Merlin gapes at him. “Sorry. It’s just that sometimes you come across as a bit of a, well. You know. Prat. It’s kind of weird when you act normal.”

“Oh, thanks a bunch.” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“So if you haven’t been to see your girlfriend have you been like…” Merlin casts about for a way of being friendly without sounding too nosy. “Having a good day?”

Arthur sighs, and his face falls. “As good as it can be, in the circumstances,” he says.

“Oh? What circumstances?”

But instead of answering, Arthur turns the ends of his mouth down into a sort of pout. Such pink lips, Arthur has. Merlin watches them, mesmerised, tamping down the sudden urge to kiss the sulk from them, to trail devoted kisses down the length of that steely jaw, and into the fold of Arthur’s neck. In response to his the visual image, Merlin's magic does a happy jump in his gut, making his kryo-collar discharge a warning dose. Jesus. Merlin has to get a grip on himself. He gives himself a little shake.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s all right.” Arthur turns wide blue eyes on him. They are kind of devastating, those eyes, especially when, like now, they are not clouded with all the usual layers of bravado and outrage that Arthur carries around with him in the office. “My sister is kind of ill, that’s all. I’ve been to visit her.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

Arthur shrugs and stares out of the window, biting his lip. The countryside flies by, a blur of green and grey.

After a while, Merlin feels Arthur’s eyes on him. He looks up.

“Do you ever wonder?” says Arthur, slowly. “If, instead of medicating magic users, we should consider educating them when their magic manifests, instead?”

Merlin’s mouth goes dry and it is his turn to shrug while his brain fills with wild thoughts and he struggles to find something safe to say. Of course, Merlin wants to educate magic users. But he does not dare to say so. It goes entirely against the opinions that Uther and Aredian hold, and current government policy. And yet here, out of the blue, is Uther Pendragon’s son himself, coming right out and saying it. Why? Is he genuine? Or is he trying to winkle out magical sympathisers from Uther’s organisation? What has Merlin done to make Arthur suspect him of being a magical sympathiser?

Arthur's gaze is steady, blue and serious. Something flashes between the two of them. In a sudden electric moment of tension, Merlin tries to decide what to do. Can he afford to confide in Arthur?

“What do you mean?” he croaks out, to buy time.

“Nothing.” Shaking his head, Arthur looks away with a disappointed droop to his mouth. Merlin feels as if he has failed a test. “How about you? What takes you out into the wilds of Albion?”

“Oh. Er. I’ve been to see my mum, actually.”

“Oh?” Arthur lifts an eyebrow. “Just your mum? No dad?”

“Mm.” Heart sinking, Merlin nods and stares out of the window. He presses his lips together to disguise the old hurt that wells up, unbidden. As his mother and great uncle have told him many times over the years, he should not feel rejected or worthless. His small, tight-knit family adores him. And his father never knew his mother was pregnant. Besides which, plenty of people have no fathers on the scene. He does not have to explain himself.

“Sorry.” Arthur holds his hands up. “It’s just… I never knew my mother, so I am a child of a single parent background. I thought, perhaps, we might have that in common.”

What the hell is Arthur doing? Either he is fishing for information about Merlin or this is an olive branch. Merlin is not sure which one is harder for him to respond to. 

“Me too,” he stutters out, eventually. Their situations are different, though. Because Arthur’s mother died, whereas Merlin’s father just buggered off before he even knew Hunith was pregnant.

“So, does she live in Ealdor, then?”

Merlin bites his lip. Is Arthur just making conversation, or is this a casual sort of interrogation? Merlin is under cover. Arthur seems genuine, but he is Uther’s son, and who knows what secrets he could unearth, with those wide blue eyes and that demeanor that oozes trustworthiness? God. Merlin has given away too much already. Arthur is a weapon, no doubt about that, a formidable one. Merlin must not put his mother at risk. A vision springs into his head, of her empty wheelchair overturned, and he suppresses a shudder.

“No,” he says, and fishes for the first place he can think of, somewhere he has visited enough to describe if pushed. “Um. Caerleon.”

“I see.” Arthur frowns. “Kind of a weird route from Caerleon to here, isn’t it?”

“No - I mean, we went out for the day. In Ealdor.” Merlin’s face flames at the blatant lie.

Arthur’s jaw juts forward. He shakes his head and lifts an accusing finger. “I don’t know who you really are, Merlin, but I do know that you’re hiding something.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“There’s no use trying to deny that you’ve been following me. I’ve seen you, you know. And when my father’s not watching, you don’t seem as anti-magic as you come across when he’s around.”

How could Arthur have seen him? He was wearing a glamour! Has Arthur been following him? Merlin bites his lip as he gropes around for something to say without incriminating himself.

“Now, I don’t know whose side you’re on,” Arthur goes on. “But I do know that I don’t trust you. You’re a spy, aren’t you? Who are you really working for? Are you spying on me for my father?”

“No!” He’s not spying, he’s not. Well, not for Uther, anyway.

“Then what are you doing?”

The simple question ties Merlin’s tongue neatly in knots and makes his face burn. Because, he should let Arthur believe that. But his treacherous heart beats just a little bit faster with every word that comes out of Arthur’s mouth. He wants Arthur to like him. 

Fuck.

Arthur is a decent person. Arthur supports homeless magic users. Arthur is kind, and funny, and clever, and self-deprecating. And he believes that magic users should be educated to use their magic, not taught to suppress it with drugs that make them go mad.

But Arthur is developing something top secret, something with potentially devastating consequences for magic users.

And as for Merlin? With every moment that passes, Merlin falls deeper in love.

Damn. Damn it all to hell.

“There’s something about you, though, Merlin.” After dropping this bombshell, Arthur shakes his head. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

Having thoroughly unsettled Merlin, Arthur should at least have the decency to look awkward, but no. His expression is cool and amused, with that oh-so-smug half-smile of his. The one that drives Merlin mad with wanting to do something to erase it, like snog him senseless until he begs for mercy. Or, in preference, something more inappropriate.

Oh, great. Now Merlin is getting aroused. He shifts his weight and crosses his legs as his magic starts buzzing under his skin.

“If you’re not reading that, can I have a peep?” Self-assured as ever, Arthur nods at the paper Merlin had earlier been pretending to read.

Silently, Merlin passes it over. He spends the remaining time with his burning cheek pressed hotly against the cold glass of the train window, watching the homes and businesses of Camelot’s outskirts flick past ever more slowly until the train stops.


	4. Chapter 4

The weeks pass, and still Merlin is no closer to finding out anything about the Avalon project. Uther and Aredian exclude him from all their discussions. Seeing Arthur each day only reinforces his painful and growing inappropriate crush. And as for Arthur—the prat turns up everywhere. He’s in the canteen at lunchtime, smirking at Merlin over his tray. He’s in Uther’s office, rummaging around for files and making himself helpful. And he’s hovering around when Merlin takes stuff down to the photocopier, or when Merlin goes to chat with Daegal about booking meeting rooms.

“Shouldn’t you be in the lab?” says Merlin, one early morning, as he leaves the gents loo on the seventh floor. The seventh-floor loo is miles away from both Arthur’s office and the clean lab where he designs experimental serums and what-not.

“Shouldn’t you be in Father’s office,” mimics Arthur. “Which is on the fourth floor, or it was last time I looked.”

Merlin bites his lip. “Yeah, but I. Um. As it happens, I’m um. Up here for the photocopier. Uther’s is out of order.” Damn it. He’ll have to go down and manufacture a paper jam now.

“Hmm,” says Arthur with sceptical smirk. “You’re a terrible liar, Merlin. God help us if you ever have any proper secrets to hide.” He bends to pick up the papers that Merlin dropped, taking a long look at them before handing them back. “Here you go. Purchase orders for pipettes, is it? They do make fascinating reading.”

A little pink corner of Arthur’s tongue appears as he licks his lips.

Merlin watches the movement and then gives himself a little shake. “Supercilious prat.” 

“What was that?”

“I said, you’ve a burr on your back.”

“I have?” Arthur’s face scrunches as he curls round, trying to see whether he has any bits of vegetation stuck to the back of his immaculate lab coat.

He looks so comical that Merlin lets out a peal of laughter.

“Oh, my God. How old are you, _Mer_ lin? Five?”

“Sorry,” wheezes Merlin between guffaws. “I had you there, didn’t I?”

“You did not,” growls Arthur, but his lips twitch so that Merlin knows he’s trying not to laugh.

Something tense uncurls in Merlin’s belly and leaves his magic tingling up and down his spine. A long moment passes while he wonders which word best describes the precise shade of blue in Arthur’s eyes… as he debates between azure and lapis, he finds himself staring at Arthur’s mouth.

He wrenches his gaze away. This has to stop. Really. The stimulation of his daily encounters with the suspicious pillock plays havoc with his magical equilibrium. Only the other day, he had to have stern words with himself as his magic tried to open the door for Arthur and started to smooth down the fabric of the chair where Arthur was about to sit. If he carries on like this, someone will catch him warming Arthur's cold coffee or something equally stupid.

 

The train carves its familiar route through the green curves of Camelot’s landscape to Avalon Junction, where Merlin disembarks, shoving his holdall up onto one shoulder before hailing a cab.

Gaius will be furious, because visiting him risks blowing Merlin's cover. But his investigation has stalled. He will tell Gaius that he has had enough. And hopefully get a chance to see Gilli, at the same time. They will have to work out some other way to find out what’s going on at the institute.

“Elysium Heights, please,” he says. “Do you know it?”

“Sure.” The cab driver presses some buttons on his phone and gets out to help Merlin put his bag in the boot, chattering all the while. “My sister works there. She’s an occupational therapist. My dad wanted me to do dentistry, but I says to him, I says, Dad, would you want me going near your mouth?” He roars with laughter, exposing an array of uneven teeth. “Nah, I says. I’ll go into the family business. Khan’s Taxis have been around for donkey’s years. Leave all the medical training to my siblings.”

“Very wise,” says Merlin, relaxing into the back seat.

“Yeah, I says to him, I says, people are always going to want taxis, Dad. Although now with this Uber thing and all the driverless cars, business is tricky, innit? But there’s always the ones who want a good, old-fashioned cab. It’s the reassurance, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Merlin prefers the solid humanity of a driver over a driverless car any day.  

“There you go.” The cab driver natters on, seemingly unconcerned whether Merlin answers him or not, while Merlin stares out of the window at the town of Avalon and its narrow streets, watching the buildings march past, deep in thought.

The last time he passed through Avalon Junction station, he saw Arthur with that woman on the platform, and they had that confusing conversation on the train. Not for the first time, Merlin wonders who the woman was. He recognised her from somewhere. 

He is still thinking about her when he steps through the door of Elysium Heights. As he waits politely for a doctor he vaguely recognises to exit the lift, she flashes him a polite smile of thanks. 

It finally clicks. Of course! Dr Gwen Thomas! One of Gilli’s consultants. He did not recognise her when he saw her with Arthur that day, because she was not wearing her white coat. But how does she know Arthur? His mind works while he steps into the lift, frowning curiously at Dr Thomas’s retreating back.

The key panel lists seven stories. He selects one, and the lift surges up to the sixth floor. He’s still deep in thought as he presses the button, waiting for a buzzer to sound so that he can gain entry to the ward.

He finds Gilli sitting in the day room, television on, staring blankly at it with the sound off to avoid disturbing the other residents.

“Hi Gilli.” Merlin sits down in the hard plastic chair next to him. As usual, Gilli does not respond. “I brought you some chocs. They’re the good ones. I spared no expense, mate. Hope you appreciate them.”

He pats Gilli’s pale hand, floppy and a bit cold, on the arm of the chair. Gilli has lost weight. Deep hollows suck at his cheeks. 

When he starts to tire of the one-sided conversation, Merlin takes a quick look at Gilli’s chart, which confirms his slow decline. He looks around for someone to ask, but the person he normally talks to, Dr Thomas, is nowhere to be seen.

“Excuse me,” he says instead to a kind-eyed man wearing blue scrubs. “I’m looking for an update on my friend, Gilli, here. Is Dr Thomas coming round today?”

“She normally does her rounds at about two,” says the man, whose name badge declares him to be called Lance. “Do you want to hang around? I'm afraid your friend seems to be fading. We can walk him around, but he doesn’t respond to speech and it’s hard to get him to eat.”

“He’s losing weight,” whispers Merlin around the lump that forms in his throat. “I’m worried about him.”

“I understand.” Lance flashes him a sympathetic smile. “I have been trying to feed him. But sometimes he won’t let me. We might need to consider a tube.”

Merlin blinks a couple of times, vision blurring as he remembers Gilli’s enthusiasm over food in the past, the way he would devour a complete tray of his favourite chocolates at one sitting. He shakes his head. “God. That bloody inhibitor is so cruel.”

“I know.” Lance gestures towards a chair. “Please, do take a seat. At the moment, we tell ourselves that it’s helping people to control their magic. But I sometimes think there has to be a better way.”

“Me too,” whispers Merlin, his voice still a bit shaky.

“Come.” Lance has such sympathetic eyes. “Sit down, and I’ll bring you a cup of tea.” 

Merlin is too upset to stay long. He wants to do something to help. But how can he? The only thing that will help Gilli is a method for removing the inhibitor from his brain. And as far as he is aware, no such method exists, not even here in Elysium Heights.

With a sigh that betrays the heaviness of his heart, Merlin stands, taking care to leave the chocolates and the manga in Gilli’s lockable bedside cabinet. Depressingly, the ones he brought him last time he visited weeks ago are still there, unopened. Merlin swallows and shakes his head as he locks them away, and goes back out to the lift.

This time, as soon as the lift doors close, he types in a complicated PIN on the keypad next to the door. A panel springs open, revealing another button with a faded number eight written on it. Merlin presses this new button, humming tunelessly, and the lift starts to ascend.

When the lift reaches the eighth floor, Merlin types in another a keycode that makes the doors slide apart revealing a sunny room. Books on wooden shelves line three sides. On the fourth, a floor-to-ceiling window looks out onto a sunlit garden. The sound of birdsong drifts in through the glass.

At a mahogany desk next to the window an elderly man with straggly white hair is peering at a hand-written letter. He puts this down when Merlin enters, and struggles to his feet. His eyebrows rise in an expression so stern that Merlin’s heart starts yammering in his chest.

“Merlin?” he yells. He thumps the table, scrunching his letter. “What the hell are you doing here? I told you; you must not be seen near this place! It’s too dangerous!”

“Gaius.” Biting his lip, Merlin peeps enquiringly at the letter, but Gaius puts it face down on his desk so that only the back side with the signature shows. “I’m sorry, but I have come up against a brick wall and I thought the only way—”

“You thought. You thought?” Gaius’s voice breaks into querulous pieces as it rises. “I very much doubt if much thought went into it! If you’d done more thinking, and less doing, perhaps you would have made a little bit more progress.” He slumps back down into his chair, passing a hand across his forehead in a sudden change of mood that reminds Merlin of Arthur. “Ah, my boy. I’m sorry. I have put too much pressure on your young shoulders. Come, come. Do sit down.” He waves at the other chair in the room, which is located next to the desk.

“I’m sorry, Gaius.” Merlin takes a few tentative steps and sits down at the edge of this chair. “I just did not know what else to do. I did make sure I wasn’t followed, though. And I have brought you this.” He rummages around in his holdall.

“You’ve found something?” With a tired harrumph, Gaius takes off his reading glasses and smooths out the letter he had been reading, placing a paperweight upon it. “I’m sorry I barked at you, dear boy. It’s just that our work is so important. What if you’re seen in here with me? What if Aredian finds out you’ve been here? What if you’re under surveillance?”

“I know.” Merlin swallows down a lump as he thinks about poor Gilli. “I know that, only too well, but I can’t help thinking that my time would be better spent here, helping you to seek a pharmaceutical answer that would reverse the damage…It’s such a waste of time sitting in Uther’s office attempting to eavesdrop on his conversations when people like Gilli are literally wasting away!”

“Hmm.” Gaius presses his lips together and stares at the ceiling. “It was reckless and foolish of you, but I understand your frustration. You are right, of course. There is little point you staying with Uther if you are making no progress. It is too dangerous. I had hoped…" he sighs and shakes his head. "Never mind. Meanwhile, you should not stay long here. But while you are here I might as well see what you have found for me.”

“Precious little, I’m afraid.” Merlin runs a frustrated hand through his hair before resuming his search through his bag. “Where is it, now?”

“While you’re looking for whatever it is, tell me what else have you found? Surely there is something? Maybe two minds are better than one?”

“Hmm? Well, I’ve followed Arthur a couple of times.”

“ _Arthur_?”

“Um. Yeah? You know, Uther’s son? His chief research officer?” A little confused by Gaius’s aghast expression, Merlin ploughs on. “I mean, I’m sure he’s up to something… It’s weird, but I can’t help thinking that he’s somehow sympathetic to magic users. He volunteers at the Tally Army, did you know that?”

“But whyever are you following _Arthur_?” Gaius fingers the corner of the letter on his desk. His gaze bores into Merlin. “You mustn’t do that!” He bashes the table with one fist. “Hell fire, Merlin! He’s nothing to do with any of this! What of Uther?”

“This is relevant! Arthur’s his son and his chief research officer. And I’m pretty sure I’ve caught him in Uther’s office stealing files. Surely—”

“Surely nothing!” Gaius shakes his head, and sags back into his swivel chair like a deflating balloon, hands clutching at his forehead. “Good God. Following Arthur.”

“But—”

“No buts. You have no idea what you are doing! Focus on the job at hand, for your own sake. There is more at stake here than just you, my boy.”

Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but when Gaius lifts a finger, he closes it again.

“Keep away from Arthur,” says Gaius. “Do you understand, Merlin? You will only endanger him, and others.”

Wishing he did understand, Merlin nods anyway.

“Good.” Gaius exhales. “Now. What do you have for me?”

Tamping down his resentment at being kept in the dark, not to mention the sudden agitation in his stomach at the thought of Arthur being in danger, Merlin pushes a manila folder over to Gaius, which he opens. He pulls out a grainy photograph. It has been magnified several times, so that the resolution is poor, but three distinct figures can be made out. One, a familiar thick-set man, shakes hands with another, a diminutive woman with long blond hair. She faces the camera, her features vague and out of focus.

“Uther has been meeting Aredian weekly for the last few months, as you know,” Merlin says, pushing the photograph across Gaius's desk. “This week, they also met this woman. Do you recognise her?”

Gaius puts his reading glasses back on and peers intently.

“Hmm. Interesting. I can’t be sure…” His voice tails off. “Unless… but it can’t be… she would never… but if she… well, that obviously changes everything.”

“So, you do recognise her?” It is more a statement than a question. 

Gaius shakes his head, clamping his lips together. 

“Hmm.” Merlin bites back his growing resentment. 

Gaius always bloody well clams up and never tells him anything. Well, Merlin is fed up with it. The whole charade has gone far enough. He still has no idea what Uther and Aredian are planning, and he hates lying to Arthur, who may be a prat, but beneath his gruff exterior lies a quirky humour and noble heart. But Arthur's up to something, Merlin's sure of it. Dr Gwen Thomas is involved, and the missing Avalon file. He opens his mouth to say so. But a faint “ping” noise interrupts him, heralding the arrival of the lift. 

As if summoned, Dr Gwen Thomas herself stands in the doorway, casting puzzled glances at first Merlin, and then Gaius.

“Ah, Gwen!” Gaius stands to greet the newcomer. “Do come in. Merlin, close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.”

“But… there’s something I haven’t told you—” Merlin needs to tell Gaius about Dr Thomas's connection to Arthur. Not that he believes that a kind-faced doctor like her could possibly be in cahoots with Uther. But how can he be sure she would not give anything away, even by accident?

But Gaius will not hear any of his protests. “Come, come, Merlin. Gwen here is a fine doctor, as you know, and she has been helping me with a complex new case. Do come in, Gwen. What seems to be the problem?”

“Oh, Gaius.” Dr Thomas seems distressed. Her hands twist at the fabric of her white scrubs, and her voice comes out quickly. “Please come at once. It’s… it’s urgent.” Her gaze flicks over towards Merlin a couple of times and she frowns. “It’s about M— the new patient. She’s…” she bites her lip and flashes another glance at Merlin. “Well. I don’t want to breach patient confidentiality. It’s just that… well. I think you should see for yourself. Please will you come?

“Of course.” Gaius pats Merlin’s arm as he gets up from behind his desk. “Sorry, my boy. Needs must. It seems that we have an emergency. I will be back in a minute. Stay here, and do not move. Do you hear?”

The lift door slides open and Gaius shuffles into the lift with Gwen.

With a sigh, Merlin settles on the swivel chair by Gaius’s desk and frowns at the blotter. Fair enough, Gaius needs to attend an emergency. But Merlin has been risking exposing his magic—to Uther Pendragon of all people—and surely he deserves to know a bit more about what’s going on? As he frets, he spots a card by Gaius’s computer.

“Gaius!” he yells. “You forgot your ID badge!” He lunges for it and grabs it, but the lift door is already closed. “Huh. He’ll probably be all right, I suppose. After all, he runs this place.”

He drops the card back onto the desk, where Gaius's discarded letter catches his attention—mainly because he recognises the signature at the bottom.

“Arthur Pendragon?” Frowning, Merlin picks the letter up. “What on earth—?”

Despite the big line of text on the top of the paper that says “Private and Confidential”, Merlin gives in to his curiosity. With a quick glance over towards the lift door, he picks up the paper and begins to read.

 

> _PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL_
> 
> _Dear Dr Wilson,_
> 
> _Please let me introduce myself. My name is Arthur Pendragon. I believe you know my father, Uther Pendragon._ _And I know that this week you secretly admitted a woman under the pseudonym_ _Le Fay._
> 
> _But please do not be alarmed. I will not reveal your secret to my father!_ _It was actually a group of my friends who released her from the secure facility where my father had been holding her captive, "for her own good", and who brought her to you. I will never knowingly reveal her whereabouts._
> 
> _Why? Because Le Fay_ _is my half sister, Morgana._
> 
> _Two very dear friends of mine work for you. One of them will have delivered this letter, by hand._
> 
> _Thanks to them, I have come to understand and admire your compassionate approach to treating those who suffer magical psychosis. I have come to realise that my father's treatment and plans for her are not in my sister's best interest. Where once I might have blindly followed his plans, I now realise that, instead of trying to cure magic users, we should be teaching them how to control and harness their powers in the same way that we teach other adolescents to make the best of their natural talents._
> 
> _There is abundant and clear evidence that Kryo Sidero is not only unsafe, but also responsible for the devastating psychosis that many magic users, including Morgana, suffer once collared. However, my father refuses to see the facts; instead, he puts his faith in Aredian. Worse, instead of accepting Morgana for who she is, and learning to celebrate her abilities, he clings to the mistaken hope that he can somehow make her "normal"._
> 
> _I recently managed to gain_ _access to some of my father's files. As a result, I have become alarmed at the potential consequences of his secretive plans for a revolutionary new, more powerful neuro-inhibitor to treat her and other magic users. He calls this drug Avalon. He and Aredian are keen to bring this new drug to market, and I believe that if he finds out where Le Fay is, he intends to treat her with it, in the mistaken belief that it will cure her of both her psychosis and her magic._
> 
> _Although the outlook may appear bleak for her, I want to tell you that there is hope, which is why I urgently need to speak to you, Dr Wilson. I’m sorry to have to contact you in this way, but I really do not trust that electronic communications will not be intercepted. I really must speak to you face to face on this matter._ _I dare not say more in writing._
> 
> _We don't have much time._ _I fear for Morgana if Aredian ever gets near her. Aredian hates magic users._ _I am not sure what his true intentions are with the Avalon drug, but I suspect that it is something altogether more sinister than Father realises. It is nothing short of neurological warfare—with innocent magic users being caught in the crossfire. I think he’s planning something big, soon._
> 
> _I look forward to meeting you. In the meantime, please keep Morgana safe. It is paramount that we keep her away from Aredian. And please destroy this letter._
> 
> _With my sincerest regards,_
> 
> _Arthur_

 

 

Merlin’s thoughts and his heart race as he reads and re-reads the letter.

So, Arthur is on their side! God, Merlin has been so stupid! That would explain why he was stealing the Avalon file out of Uther’s office. But what does Arthur mean by saying "there is hope"? And what does he need to talk to Gaius about? Still, a weight lifts from his mind. Merlin’s magic has been right all along. 

“I should have known.” Clutching his chest to still the thudding pulse of his heart, he slips if anything a little further into love with the prat. “I’ve been such a fool.”

God. But what is Aredian up to? What is to prevent Gilli and other poor souls like this Morgana from being pawns in some desperate battle?

A burst of warning magic erupts beneath his skin. He frowns and turns his head, trying to find its cause. Following some instinct, he stands up and crosses to the window.

A taxi draws up outside the facility. He almost laughs out loud when he sees who gets out, and his magic dances an ecstatic loop-the-loop in his stomach. Well, well, well. It’s Arthur. Of course it is. A second later, Dr Gwen Thomas and Gaius come of the building, and approach Arthur. They shake hands. They confer, and step together back towards the building entrance. Arthur’s brows furrow in concern, while Gwen gesticulates wildly. Gaius follows them in, hands in pockets, head bowed as if in sorrow. 

A minute later and they have gone inside. Merlin is about to leave the window, but out of the corner of his eye he spots another vehicle approaching down the gravel-lined drive. A sleek, black Mercedes with darkened windows emerges from between the bushes that line the driveway. It edges into the building’s near-empty car park. Merlin would not normally pay any attention, but some instinct makes him watch as the driver’s door opens. When a bald head peeps out, Merlin’s mouth drops open, and he shivers involuntarily. 

As Aredian straightens, his head gleaming despite the gloom, a triumphant smile flits across his face. He drags a black leather bag out of the car—the sort that medics carry in old movies. An aura of menace haunts the hunch of his shoulders and the set of his jaw. Even more so than usual. Merlin shivers.

Another figure steps out of the car—slight of build, a woman with long blond hair. The woman that he photographed with Aredian and Uther earlier that week. She glances up at the window, staring directly at him. A flash of orange makes Merlin’s skin tingle.

He steps back abruptly, heart pounding. His kryo-collar burns cold against the flesh of his throat, and he hisses at the unexpected wave of pain that sweeps through him.

Shit. She has magic. Does Aredian know?

Remembering the contents of Arthur’s letter to Gaius, he has to warn Arthur. He crosses over to the lift door and presses the button to summon it. Nothing that makes Aredian smile like that can mean anything good for people he cares about.

The third time Merlin presses the button, the lift still does not budge. Gaius must have disabled it. Muttering curses under his breath, Merlin rattles the door to the fire exit instead. Against all health and safety regulations, the damned thing is also locked. Merlin is trapped. 

Breathing out heavily, he presses a hand to the door.  _“Aliese_.”

A brief flash and a bang make Merlin’s collar burn against his skin. Quickly compartmentalizing his mind, to guard against the Kryo Sidero that threatens to flood his magical synapses, he takes another breath. The door clicks open. Merlin springs through, scampering down the stairs. Eight flights disappear beneath his feet in no time. Fear lends him wings. Every cell in his body wakes up, and vibrates with urgent magical signals. 

Arthur is in danger. 

“Okay! I get it!” he whispers to himself as he leaps down the fourth flight of stairs five steps at a time. “I’m going as fast as I can!”

He arrives, panting, at the front entrance. Aredian and the woman are no-where to be seen. The receptionist, Sefa, looks up in surprise.

“Sir? Is everything—”

“Where’s Gaius?” he says, breathing heavily.

“He’s seeing a pat—”

“Then I need to see her too. At once. It’s important, Sefa.”

“But I just sent in a specialist, who said they were not to be disturbed.” A stubborn line flashes between her eyes. “You’ll have to wait until…”

“Fine, fine.” A specialist? Christ, that must be Aredian.

Sefa's mouth takes on a mulish tilt. She closes her appointment book. A brown envelope sits in front of her. She slips it into her desk with a shifty look. 

Merlin thumps the table. “Jesus, Sefa. Will you just tell me where he is? I’m not going to burst in or anything.”

“I can’t!” Her eyes flicker over towards a doorway and back. “I’m sorry, you’ll just have to wait here. What are you doing? Wait! No! You can’t do magic in here! Stop it at once!”

“Too late.”

Through gritted teeth, Merlin mutters a tracking spell. His magic pulls towards the secure block that houses patients that might be dangerous. He sighs. He should have known.

He sprints out. Sefa’s protests are soon swallowed up by the closing door. At a fast jog, he crosses the green patch between the two buildings. The grass is wet. Water clings to the hem of his trousers. Within seconds, he closes in on the secure block, magic bubbling up to the surface, making his throat sting and his fingertips tingle.

Behind him, an alarm sounds.

At the door, a security guard raises a hand as Merlin approaches.

“Hoi! You, there! What’s the big hurry?”

“Over there!” Merlin shouts, waving over his shoulder, without stopping. “Quick! In the main block! Quick!”

From a quiet spot hidden deep within his brain, he sends out a mental spell to reinforce the command. The security guard springs to attention. Breaking into a run, he follows Merlin’s pointing finger. The diversion has worked. The guard will realise he’s been duped when he reaches Sefa, but by then Merlin will be inside the building.

He stands bracing himself against the floor and sends out a tendril of magic to feel the wards and locks that have been set on the place. As with the safe, he has become adept at detecting the levers that will take him through combination locks. He doesn’t want to risk alerting Aredian to his presence, so he avoids doing anything too dramatic, instead whispering to himself as he feels his way through the correct sequence of numbers and letters. With a quiet click, the automatic doors slide open. They close behind him with a friendly swishing noise.

Closing his eyes, he reaches out with his mind to the warm, fuzzy golden feeling that represents Arthur, which he follows to a closed, locked door on the third floor. Behind the door, raised voices alert him that he has reached his goal.

Heart pounding, he presses himself back against the wall and considers his next move. 

A terrified, horror-filled scream from behind the door shakes him out of his reverie. This is it. This is what his magic is for. To protect someone who is in danger. Someone who he cares about. To protect _Arthur_.

He splays his hand against the door without a care for his own safety. Time is paramount.

_“Tóspringe.”_

This time the door explodes off its hinges, hurtling into the room beyond. Merlin steps through the clearing dust, hand outstretched. Shocked faces turn to him.

“Merlin?” yells a familiar voice.

“Arthur!”

“Get away from here, you idiot!”

Instead, Merlin scans the room. It’s a private ward, with a bed in one corner, and a desk. It is clean and sterile, with a view out over the gardens. Over in one corner, sits a cowering woman. The occupant of the ward, presumably. Long, dark hair hangs in matted strands around her face. Her lips draw back in an anguished grimace. On one side of her sits Dr Thomas, with an arm around her, while on the other sits Gaius, ashen faced, one hand gripping hers.

“Merlin! I mean it, get out of here!” Arthur, tense-faced and pale stands with his hands behind his back, making no attempt to escape from Aredian’s grip.

Aredian does not look strong enough to hold an athletic man like Arthur. Surely Arthur could break free?

“Ah. Uther’s side-kick has magic, I see. What a surprise!” Aredian’s lips lift in a thin parody of a smile. “How nice. Did you fancy joining our impromptu clinical trial? We can arrange for you to be next.”

“Leave him alone,” says Arthur, with a violent jerk that nearly frees him.

“Ah, ah, ah!” chastises Aredian. He pats Arthur's chest. “Now, now. Have you changed your mind? Move again, and Morgause will inject Morgana.”

The dark haired woman whimpers, and Arthur goes limp, grimacing. 

“Good. Morgause, now if you please.” Aredian clicks his fingers. "Inject Arthur with the Avalon inhibitor." 

The blonde-haired woman who accompanied him in his car is wearing a white lab coat, protective eyegear, surgical gloves and a mask, above which kohl-lined eyes glitter. Her throat lies bare, unadorned by any collar. She holds a syringe in one hand, poised as if to inject Arthur with it. The syringe’s contents glow like the Kryo Sidero inhibitor. But unlike Kryo Sidero, which is red, this substance is a sinister shade of green.

Arthur’s jaw tightens.

Arthur cannot be harmed.

The woman's thumb starts to move.

“No!” cries Merlin.

Several other voices echo him. But only Merlin has the wit and the power to act.

He thrusts out his hand, magic bursting from him. It flings the syringe from her grasp. It flies off across the room and shatters on the lino, spilling its contents in a green puddle across the floor. A cloud of dense, green fumes rises from it.

“Don’t breathe it in!” screams someone. Gwen. She rushes over to the window, and tugs it open. Fresh air gusts into the room.

“You fool!” yells Aredian. He’s still holding Arthur.

“Release him!” says Merlin between gritted teeth. Blood pounds in his ears. He stalks over towards Aredian, hand still outstretched. “If you hurt him, I will kill you.”

“Merlin, no!” yells Arthur. “Merlin! You can’t let him near you! Keep away, leave this place! Don’t breathe the fumes!”

“Well, well, well.” Aredian’s voice is calm, disinterested. “So, Uther’s assistant is a filthy magic user. And a spy? Who would have thought it? Who would have known?”

“Yes, I have magic.” Merlin edges closer to him, wondering how to get Arthur out of the bastard’s clutches. Decision made, Merlin undoes his shirt, to reveal the kryo-collar that lies beneath. “See, I have the collar to prove it.”

“That’s a low-end seer’s collar.” Aredian raises his lip in a contemptuous sneer. “Pathetic. Leave and I will consider not killing you.”

“It’s a wonderful thing, to always be underestimated.” Reaching for his magic, Merlin thrusts out both hands.

A sudden blaze of energy sucks the magic from his cortex and burns through his fingers. Aredian cries out and releases Arthur. Falling back against the wall, Arthur looks around, wide eyed, hands scrabbling for purchase.

“But that’s impossible!” cries Aredian. “How…? Ah, never mind. Morgause, quickly. Give Arthur the back-up dose!”

“On it.” The blonde woman is already scrabbling about in her bag.

“Look out, Arthur!” Merlin rushes towards him, placing his body between Morgause and Arthur. “What do you want from him?”

Aredian’s laugh, is so cold sound that it makes him shiver. “Ask your boss, Uther. He thinks he can cure his daughter of her magic with my new inhibitor, Avalon. But Arthur’s not so sure, are you Arthur?”

“It will kill her, and you know it,” spits Arthur.

“So your precious Arthur has offered to take it in her place. So gallant. So heroic, don’t you think?”

“No, Arthur,” says Merlin, horrified. “You can’t do this!”

But there isn’t time to argue. Because, Morgause is pulling something from the bag, now. Another syringe.

Merlin raises his hand. He can’t think of the spell, but it doesn’t matter. His magic fizzes, making his skin warm and cold. It loves Arthur. It knows what to do. It must protect him! He breathes hard through his nose.

“You won’t hurt him,” he repeats as he casts his hand around in a swathe. Instantly, a magical barrier springs up in its wake.

His legs tremble from the pressure and he slumps to the floor, gasping. Pain shoots through his head, and a piercing cold scorches his neck as the kryo-collar reacts to his magic, but he ignores it. Arthur must be protected. That is paramount. His very bones scream it. His magic screams it.

Morgause, unable to penetrate the bubble of protection Merlin has raised against Arthur, turns to Aredian, instead. She smirks and raises the hand bearing the syringe raised.

“As if I would ever inject my sister, Aredian, you fool,” she says, and her eyes burn orange, filled with magic and hatred. 

“What?”

“You heard me.” She steps towards Aredian, teeth and intent bared.

“Treacherous fool,” he says, lip curling in disgust.

As she goes to stab him, he reaches out to grab her wrist, and twists it. She struggles, baring her teeth. Something flashes, and magic flares against Merlin’s skin. But still Aredian grins at her, twisting further until her arm is behind her back until she releases her grip. He takes the syringe from her.

“I should inject you,” he says, eyes narrowing.

“No!” Her nostrils flare, and she thrashes around in his grip, eyes flashing. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, I would. But… no. You could still be useful… I’ve got a better idea. A stronger test subject.” He releases her with an abrupt movement of his arm, and turns to Merlin.

“Merlin! Look out!” cries Arthur.

Confused and weakened by his kryo-collar, Merlin tries to push to his knees, but he has no strength in his legs. He flinches back, feet scrabbling as Aredian chases him, but he’s slow, too slow, and he feels rather than sees Aredian close the final distance between them. 

A searing pain stabs into his left arm. Ice burns through his veins. He cries out, shuddering, back spasming. Agony spreads through his spine and head. A numb patch on his arm radiates into his body, spreading agony with every heartbeat. His nerve endings scream.

“Oh, but, Aredian, you weasel, I have a third dose…” Merlin hears Morgause’s voice as if at a distance through the fog of pain. “And don’t you think you should be the test subject for your own medicine?”

Far away, a man screams. But with the next beat of his heart, the widening sphere of neuro-inhibitor reaches Merlin’s brain. His magic stutters and falls quiet. He tastes iron. Cold iron. The cold iron that _Kryo Sidero_ was named for. Kryo sidero. The new drug floods through him, gripping his brain and his limbs in horrifying pulses, like the familiar, deathly kiss of Kryo Sidero, but magnified many times over. His kryo-collar burns, his eyes roll back, and the world starts to dim. His limbs twitch, pain spiking through every synapse in wave upon wave.

From the distant recesses of his mind he’s vaguely aware of shouting, of Arthur yelling his name. But the pain is too much for him, and the cold tendrils of the inhibitor flood through all his mental shields to clutch at his mind, the bare, icy hands of an inevitable doom. His magical senses blink out one by one and his eyes begin to mist.

He falls back. Something soft cushions his fall. Anxious, impossibly blue eyes fix on his. Sarcastic mouth. Fingers touching his hair. Arthur.

Arthur’s safe. That’s all that matters.

“Arthur,” he whispers through lips that feel suddenly frozen. “You’re all right.”

“Merlin!” yells someone from far away.

Merlin smiles, and the world turns white.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin blinks at the stained ceiling tiles and wishes he were dead. Surely, part of him died. There was more than this, once. He remembers joy, and delight, and music. Now, a deep well of hurt has drowned the place where those things once were. When he moves his head, the agony that splits through his skull makes him want to scream. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

Someone is speaking, something warm brushes against his face, but he cannot bear their touch. He thrashes and jerks to dislodge it.

A pair of concerned blue eyes swims into view. They mattered, once, those eyes. He does not remember why. They plead with him, now. Someone speaks, but he hears no words through the fog of pain. He opens his mouth, to beg the eyes to make it stop, but a flash of cold burns through his throat, and he gasps instead.

When he closes his eyes, someone says his name. He focusses on the voice. It grounds him. It belongs to the eyes, he thinks.

“Come on, Merlin, you’ve come this far. Don’t give up on me now.”

“It’s no good,” says someone else. “He can’t hear you. That dastardly Avalon inhibitor is irreversible. Oh, my boy. My poor, dear boy.” 

“Can’t we give him the Excalibur counter-treatment?” says the first voice. “That’s what I designed it for, after all.”

Arthur. The voice is called Arthur. It belongs to the blue eyes. Arthur wants to help. A sudden surge of memory makes Merlin try to speak.

“Ar—” but then pain slams into his throat again and hurls him back, body arching, all his muscles spasming.

“Oh, God, Gaius. He’s conscious. Is there nothing we can do?” The voice hitches. “Let me try it, I beg you.”

“It’s experimental, Arthur,” admonishes the other voice. “It wouldn’t be ethical. Not without consent.”

“It worked for Morgana! It reversed the effect of the Kryo Sidero… Let me try it, Gaius. It should work just as well against Avalon, it bonds to both molecules. I’ve seen it work in mice.”

“She signed a consent form, Arthur. This is different and you know it.”

If something, anything can release the magical tide that threatens to burst free from Merlin’s brain before it explodes, it must be worth it. He sends a hand out, grasping at someone’s arm as hard as he can, and steels himself to speak.

“Arthur. Do it,” Merlin gasps. “Or kill me. I don’t care. Just make it st—”

But the effort of trying to speak makes the pain return, cold and inexorable, worse than ever before, worse than anything he can ever have imagined, ice flooding through his back and his gut until he doubles over, screaming. Time seems to stand still, locking him in an infinite moment of agony and despair. His mouth tastes of iron, cold iron, over him and in him and surrounding him. He will suffocate with the weight of it, his magic… yes, that’s what it was called, magic… building into a crescendo of nightmarish pressure within his skull.

“Jesus Christ!” cries Arthur. “Fuck it, Gaius. That’s verbal consent. I’m going to administer Excalibur.”

“At least give him anaesthetic first!” says someone else.

“There isn’t time, Gwen,” Arthur replies. “Merlin, I’m so sorry. This will hurt like fuck, to start with, but it’s worth it.”

Something warm covers his hand, and something else gentles his forehead. He leans into it like a lifeline. And then, just when he thinks the pain couldn’t possibly get any worse, the needle goes into his thigh.

Fire surges through his limbs, his back arches, and his eyes roll back in surrender.

The next time Merlin wakes, a numb, blank sort of ache fills his head where he normally probes for his magic. He tugs at it, experimentally. Instantly the pain floods back, and he gasps.

“Don’t do that,” says a quiet voice by his side. “It makes things worse. You’ve got some healing to do.”

He turns his head, surprised. The woman sitting there seems familiar somehow. She has huge grey-green eyes and a flawless complexion. Her hair, sleek and black, is tied in a neat ponytail.

He opens his mouth, but it is dry and his tongue feels scratchy and huge.

“Here, have some water.” She puts a glass to his lips and he tries to gulp, but she pulls it away. “Little sips,” she admonishes. “Or you’ll choke.”

He does as she says, letting the cool liquid roll around his tongue. It is blissful.

“Arthur said you’d be difficult,” she smirks at him. “But he failed to mention how cute you are. I can see now why he’s all in a pickle about you.”

“Who are you?” Merlin whispers, unable to vocalise. His throat is sore as if he has been screaming, which perhaps he has.

She blinks, slowly. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is how you are feeling?”

He closes his eyes, not sure how to answer. His throat itches. He goes to touch his collar with his hand, and his mouth drops open. “It’s gone!”

“Yeah, they got your collar off while you were asleep.”

“I didn’t think that was possible!”

“Not without severe trauma, and magical psychosis, yes, that’s the received wisdom.” Her mouth thins to a bitter line. “Or so my father will have you believe.” Venom drips from her voice when she spits out the word _father_. “But thanks to this new treatment, hopefully we can be whole again. With time. That’s what Arthur hopes.”

“Arthur?” Merlin swallows. “New treatment?”

“Excalibur, he calls it.” She shrugs. “He’s such a boy!”

Merlin has a sudden vision of Arthur as a very small, very blond boy, clutching a toy sword, and using it to vanquish foes with an expression of great ferocity and determination upon his tiny face. It makes him smile and huff out a small exhalation through his nose.

“He’s such a clotpole,” he whispers, to disguise the sudden rush of fondness that washes over him.

“Oh, you are so gone on him,” she purrs, those luminous eyes glowing a strange shade of orange-green. “I can totally see what he sees in you. You and I are going to be great friends, I can tell.”

“Me?” whispers Merlin.

There’s a sound in the corner of the room that could be a door opening. She looks towards it, eyes widening in alarm. “I must go!”

She mutters a few words under her breath, and waves a single hand once. A second later, she has literally vanished. Merlin gapes for a moment at the newly vacant chair. How did she... ?

At a quiet cough by the door, Merlin swivels his head, then puts a hand up, wincing at the sudden pain that shoots through his cranium.

“You’re awake,” says his new visitor.

Merlin gapes at him, bewildered.

“Arthur?” he rasps. “Are you all right?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Arthur steps over towards Merlin’s bed. His face is bathed in light from the window, which makes his hair fluff out in golden strands like a lion’s mane. As he gets closer, the light throws his cheekbones and jaw into stark relief. Concerned blue eyes peer at Merlin. For a moment, it is like being cared for by the sun and the sky. “How are you feeling?”

Rendered speechless by this vision, Merlin shrugs. A numb sense of emptiness still lies where his magic used to be. Closing his eyes, he probes at it gently.

“I’ve felt better,” he says at last, not sure how to put this lack into words.

Arthur nods. “I’m sorry. The Avalon inhibitor will take a while to drain from your system. The Excalibur counter-inhibitor seems to have bonded to it, but we will have to wait and see. I’m so sorry to put you through this experimental treatment. I would love to tell you that everything is going to be all right, but the truth is that I’ve only ever administered this drug to one other person before, so we don’t know how it’s going to work out.”

“I wanted to,” says Merlin. “But now… now I can’t feel it at all.” He swallows down a rising tide of panic. “It’s as if I never had it.”

His breath hitches and his eyes blur. Who is he without his magic?

“It may come back,” says Arthur, eyes wide with sympathy and a warm hand closes over Merlin’s which lies limp on top of the coverlet. “Don’t lose hope, Merlin. Only time will tell. But at least now Aredian is in custody, for assault and kidnapping… and you are alive. And safe.”

What comfort is that, when Merlin has lost such a fundamental part of himself? He bites back the misery that rises in his gorge, lost for a moment. He blinks into a pair of anxious eyes.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s mouth turns down and his tooth worries at his lip. A deep furrow appears between his eyes. It does not belong there.

“You saved me,” Merlin manages to say at last, reaching up to try to smooth that furrow with his thumb. “I… I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but maybe it would have been better if you hadn’t.”

Arthur slips his hand up Merlin’s neck and cups his cheek with it, shaking his head, his fingers so gentle that Merlin can hardy believe this is the same strong, fierce man he has fallen for. “If you were dead, I wouldn’t be able to do this…” Arthur’s eyes flutter closed, so that Merlin can see every golden eyelash, and bending, he places tender lips upon Merlin’s.

Startled, all Merlin can do is part his own mouth and moan. Arthur’s lips are so soft on his. Soft and full of promise. The kiss is a sign of the future, of things to come.

Arthur breaks the kiss, touching Merlin’s forehead with his own as he murmurs, “I swear on my own life, I will do everything in my power to help you to get it back.”

As if awakened by this vow, Merlin’s fingertips tingle. It is only faint, and he may have imagined it, but it feels like…

He grins. Hope lifts the heavy weight upon his heart for a second. Maybe Arthur is right. Maybe his magic is still there, hidden under layers of swelling and hurt. And it still loves Arthur, just as Merlin does.

He has so many questions for Arthur, but his eyelids start to droop, and he yawns.

“There’s so much hope for you, Merlin. I swear we’re going to do everything in our power to get it back…”

As he drifts into sleep, Arthur’s hand still warm on his, the hum of Arthur’s voice is a lullaby.

The sun is creating dappling patterns in red and pink behind Merlin’s eyelids as he wakes.

“Merlin, my boy? Are you awake?”

“Gaius?” Merlin’s eyes flick open. Arthur has gone, and with him every trace of that soft buzz of magic. “Gaius. I can’t feel it any more.” The despair washes over him again and he barely manages to suppress a sob. “It’s gone. All of it.”

“Hush, Cariad,” says a familiar voice.

“Mum!” Warmth floods through Merlin and he blinks towards the side of the bed. “I didn’t see you there!” He extends his arms with an instinctive movement, bending to reach her, pulling her warmth to him as he drinks in the scent of her soft, cashmere cardigan. “Oh, mum.”

“It’s all right, Cariad, you’re going to be fine,” she murmurs into his hair.

“But what are you doing here?”

“Uncle Gaius called me.” She holds his shoulders and looks searchingly at his face. “I was so worried about you.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you.” He swallows and dashes a hand across his eyes. “I’m okay, really.” He offers her a watery smile.

“That’s the spirit.” She gives his shoulders a little shake. “Now, where’s that young man of yours?”

“Young man? Do you mean Arthur?”

“That’s the one. He hasn’t been taking good care of you. I want to have words with him!” 

“Mum, he’s not _my_   young man. Or at least, not yet! Not really!” Heat spreads up Merlin’s cheeks and he huffs out a genuine laugh. “And you can’t really blame him for what happened. Tell her, Gaius!”

“Indeed. In fact, Arthur is doing his very best to help Merlin to get his magic back.”

Merlin’s magic. A wave of misery engulfs him when he tries to reach it. “It’s gone.”

Gaius puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t fret, my boy. It will be numb for a while, but I think it will start to return gradually. Don’t lose hope.”

“Is this what non-magical people feel like all the time?” he whispers, blinking back tears. “How do they bear it?”

“Oh, come now, we don’t know what it’s like to have magic, so how can we miss it?” Hunith smiles sadly. “At least for you, it is not permanent.”

“Not like MS, you mean.” Shame floods through him. Hunith has been through so much, has lost so many of her own abilities because of her condition. “I’m sorry, Mum. I forgot.”

“No, Cariad, don’t be ashamed of how you feel.” She strokes a lock of hair back from his forehead with a sweet tenderness that floods him with warmth. Because, if anyone will ever understand how he feels, his mother will. “If it comes back, it comes back. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. That’s disability for you. You adapt to survive. If you can learn to live with it, reach an acceptance of your new reality, and most people do, then you become someone new—different, but not necessarily broken. And then, sometimes, you can find happiness in the most unexpected places.”

“Well, at the same time, you’ve lost something important,” says Gaius, with a kind tilt of his eyebrows. “Whether it comes back or not, it’s natural that you will feel the loss.” He picks up Merlin’s wrist and puts his finger on the pulse point, gazing at his fob watch. “Don’t be afraid to seek counselling, Merlin. Now, if you don’t mind, Hunith, I will examine Merlin now.”

“I’ll wait outside.”

Gaius opens the door for her. Merlin watches her wheel out.

The room is quiet. Outside the window, a bird trills. Merlin resents it. As if anything has a right to be so joyful.

“Physically, you are recovering nicely, Merlin,” says Gaius after a while. He drops Merlin’s hand and picks up the notes at the end of the bed, jotting something down on them. “There’s no need to despair, my boy. I have every hope that your magic will return. We have tried the Excalibur counter-inhibitor on one other patient, with excellent results.”

“Could that have been the woman who was in here?” says Merlin. He has wondered about her—and the more he thinks about her, the more positive he becomes that she cannot just have been a hallucination. “Who is she? Is she Arthur’s sister?”

“Morgana?” Gaius frowns. “In here? Dear me, no. She’s still on another ward, in another building entirely. No, no. She can’t possibly have been in here.”

“But Gaius, if she has magic, maybe she can…”

“Impossible. Although...” Arching one eyebrow, Gaius stares at him. “What was she like, this woman you saw?”

“Dark hair. Big eyes. Devastatingly beautiful, even in a hospital gown.” Merlin shrugs. “If I were straight, I’d have fallen instantly in love.”

“Well, it does sound like her.” Frowning, and at the same time shaking his head, Gaius presses his lips out. “Hmm. Very strange. I must… ” He crosses over to the window, and stares out for a moment or two.

“Gaius?” Merlin cares deeply for his mentor, of course, but he can be frustratingly vague when he gets lost in a train of thought.

“Hmm? Oh, dear, I’m sorry dear boy. I was miles away. Now, I suggest that you work on taking in plenty of fluid, so we can flush that nasty inhibitor out of your synapses and get you back to your old self again.”

“What happened to me?” Merlin fingers the raw, healing skin around his neck. “Where is my magic? And where is the collar?”

“Your magic lies dormant, hopefully to be awakened as we gradually kick out the inhibitor. And the collar… you miss it?”

“Not exactly.” Merlin shudders. Every time he used his magic, for the last few years, it felt that the thing would drain some of his soul along with it. And it scratched, and burned at his skin. “But it’s… it’s weird without it.”

“Yes. Well. They’re known for being uncomfortable. It’s remarkable you tolerated it for so long. With the Excalibur counter-inhibitor, it started to peel off you. Quite remarkable, dear boy.” Gaius sighs and shakes his head. “But painful. Oh, so painful. I’m so sorry. I owe you an explanation, my boy. I swear, I never intended you to suffer, so.”

“I know that, Gaius.” Merlin doesn’t understand why Gaius is being so hard on himself. “You were trying to help. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“Oh, but I can. Because… well. It’s strange, isn’t it, how the best intentions can lead people to terrible things?”

“What do you mean?”

“Take Uther, for example.” Gaius’s eyes turn a thoughtful shade of grey.

“Uther?” Merlin frowns. “What has he got to do with me?”

“Oh, everything, dear boy.” Shaking his head, Gaius sits on the end of the bed, putting his hand on Merlin’s. “It was him who started all this, after all. Ten, fifteen years ago… when the magic began to manifest in the general population. Well. People thought it was a virus, at first.”

Merlin’s magic has been around for a lot longer than that, but he knows he is an oddity.

“It was back then that he started to develop the _Kryo Sidero_ inhibitor, with Aredian. To cure his daughter, you see. When she reached puberty, her magic started to manifest in the most unkind way imaginable.” Gaius shakes his head. “Visions, terrible dreams, and fire raising.”

“Oh, God. The poor thing.” It had been bad enough growing up with magic in a tiny community where his own mother supported him. Merlin can’t imagine how frightened a vulnerable young girl must have felt, in the dark of the night, with a father like Uther.

“Yes. So, you can’t blame him for wanting to make it stop. At least to start with. And I do think that, at first, he was genuinely trying to help.”

“Surely she wasn’t alone.” Merlin tries to picture what kind of a parent Uther might have been. Stern, cold, aloof…

“Well, she had a younger half sibling…”

“Arthur.”

“Yes.” Gaius sighs. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this… but…”

He trails off, looking out of the window. Merlin swallows and waits.

“I can’t help thinking that after all you have suffered, you deserve to know… By all accounts, they had a decent childhood. At least until the dreams started. But sadly, Uther chose to try to medicate Morgana. She had an adverse reaction to the inhibitor. When she reacted so badly, Uther locked her up in an institution and tried to make something stronger, to permanently erase the magic.”

Merlin gapes at him. “The collars? The Avalon serum? That was all for her?”

“All of it. I’m afraid it was Aredian’s idea. He convinced Uther to go further down that path.”

“God. Poor girl.” Breathing heavily, Merlin closes his eyes and pictures the girl’s pale cheeks, her luminous eyes. “God. And what of the other one, the one that was with Aredian. The blonde one who…”

“Ah. You must mean Morgause. Morgana's half sister. They have only recently found one another. Given the circumstances, Arthur decided not to press assault charges against her.” Standing, Gaius consults his watch. “If I’m not wrong, she’s with Morgana now. Which reminds me. I have other patients to visit. I must go!”

“But, Gaius…” A hundred more questions are backed up in Merlin’s brain, but his treacherous body is giving out again and he yawns, exhausted beyond measure.

“But, nothing.” Gaius gives him a look that brooks no argument. “Back to sleep now, there’s a good chap.”

When Merlin settles back onto his pillows, his mind is more at peace. But where his magic once tingled and fizzed under his skin, he just feels a horrible blank sort of numbness, as if all the music in the world has fallen silent.

A few days and some random bursts of magic later, he needs to convalesce at home. But Arthur takes one look at Merlin’s dingy bed-sit before whisking Merlin away in his shiny car.

“You should stay here at my flat. It’s central, and I can keep an eye on you.” Arthur sweeps a hand around the designer furniture and the pristine kitchen. “Look. You’ll be super comfortable, with all mod cons.”

“You’re out all day,” protests Merlin. “I’ll be bored out of my skull. And I don’t want to be spied on, thank you!”

“But—”

“But no!" 

“I was going to say that Morgana can put up wards for you, so that you know you’re not being watched. And she’ll drop in often.”

Morgana is convalescing too, and she and Merlin have struck up an unlikely friendship. Unlikely, because Morgana is bossy whereas Merlin is as stubborn as a mule, and twice as unbending. They should not work together, but somehow they manage to find their ways around each other’s rough edges.

But the main problem with Arthur’s flat—the problem that Merlin will not mention but sits heavily on his mind—is that never wants to bump into Uther.

“It’s very… nice,” says Merlin, chewing his lip while Arthur trains huge, imploring eyes on him and he ponders just how he can let Arthur down gently. “I just, um…” He chews his lip, trying to dredge up a plausible objection. Which is difficult, when Arthur is offering him a top floor penthouse with a hot tub and views over Camelot, as well as a family of Peregrine falcons nesting in the roof. “It's just… too um… high.”

“Father doesn’t have a key,” says Arthur. “And even if he did, he’s so grateful to you for what you did to protect me and Morgana that he’d probably just pour you a whisky and tell you to make yourself comfortable, which is his way of making friends.”

“Are you reading my mind?” Merlin huffs out a chuckle. “I thought I was the one who was meant to have magic.” 

“It’s all right.” Arthur throws his hands in the air. “I give in. I won’t make you live here if you don’t want to. But the offer’s always open.”

“I know,” whispers Merlin. “Thank you.”

“You’re not going back to that shit-hole though.” Arthur’s mouth makes a stubborn line.

Which is why, as a compromise, Merlin ends up convalescing at his mum’s tiny house in Ealdor. With frequent visits from a wide selection of company, but not, and this is the important bit, his former boss.

One early morning with a riot of birdsong outside Merlin’s window, he is awakened when someone comes into his room. At the same time, his magic floods through him in happy bursts, so he is not worried. Only one person makes his magic react like that.

“Ah, there you are, sleeping beauty.” Arthur’s hand is warm upon Merlin’s. “Wakey, wakey. Rise and shine. Time for your breakfast. How are you feeling.”

“Good,” whispers Merlin, eyes blinking open. An incredulous smile blooms across his face as he stretches out his fingers and pushes an experimental magical tendril into them. There is a warm sort of tingle that he hasn’t felt for a long time. “I actually feel... good.”

“That’s good.” Arthur smiles down at him, eyes a clear and dancing shade of blue.

“Good!” repeats Merlin, beaming back, basking in the beauty of Arthur’s gaze.

“Wow.” Arthur just stares at him for a moment or two, before clearing his throat and looking away. “Ah. Well. Hmm. Nice to see you smiling this morning, Merlin. I thought you’d forgotten how! So, how are your…” He wiggles his fingers and pulls a face. “You know. Superpowers, this morning?”

When he looks back, his eyes are such a piercing blue that for a moment Merlin forgets what he was going to say.

“Good,” he manages to croak, before realising that he has said the same word four times already. He pushes himself up onto his elbows to distract himself from the fact that he is such an idiot. “Erm. Yeah. I mean… well. It's well. Is that the right word? I mean, is wellness, a thing you can use to describe, erm… well. I mean, it’s good.”

“Good, is it? My, we are being articulate this morning!” Arthur teases.

“Patronising dollophead!” Merlin’s magic does a familiar happy jig that makes his stomach swoop and his skin feel alive and tingly. “What I mean is… my magic… It’s back!” Merlin actually laughs out loud. “Properly back. Not just a stutter, but filling my bones with… I can’t describe it really! It’s like I’m properly alive again. Like stepping into the light, where I was in the shadow before.”

“I know.” Arthur shakes his head and his smile widens. “Your eyes are glowing, actually. It’s quite disconcerting.”

“Oh, sorry!” Merlin throws the covers off and goes to stand, but his his head swims and his legs give out under him. “Whoops! Shit!”

“Whoa, there.” An arm winds under his shoulders, steadying him, strong muscles flexing against the thin fabric of Merlin’s pyjamas. “Not so fast. Don’t go trying to dance the fandango now, Merlin. You may have magic but you’ve got the common sense of a gnat, you feckless warlock. Honestly, it’s a good thing that someone in here has got brains!”

“Oh?” says Merlin, as he is expertly steered back onto the side of the bed where he sits, limbs shaking from the effort. “Who might that be?” He makes a show of looking around the room. “Did someone else come in with you?”

“Very funny.” When Arthur shakes his head, his eyes crinkle into a fond sort of half smile that makes Merlin’s breath hitch. He perches on the side of the bed, his right hand closing over Merlin’s left. “So, I may be a dollophead as you put it, but it seems that I’m good for your magic.”

“Yeah. Strange, that.” Feeling daring, Merlin threads the fingers of his hand through Arthur’s and looks up at him through his lashes. “You should hire yourself out to Gaius as a healer of magical injuries. You could make a fortune, turning up places with that megawatt smile of yours and healing their magic by just gracing them with your presence.”

“Oh, yeah?” Arthur leans forward so that a sunbeam falls onto his face, making the tiny hairs of his golden lashes glow. “My presence, is it.”

"Well, the kisses help too." Merlin grins. "Regular doses. But I'm selfish. I'm not sure I want to prescribe those for anyone else."

Arthur tilts his head. Merlin mirrors him. Their mouths meet, eager and hot, and Merlin lets out a tiny noise that he is a bit embarrassed about, but not enough to stop kissing. He gives himself to the blissful slide of Arthur’s lips against his, mouth responding to the inexorable glide of Arthur’s tongue.

Merlin’s heart thuds hard against his ribs and he makes himself push Arthur away. “I have horrible morning breath.”

“So what?” Arthur places one hand on each side of Merlin’s face and draws him back in.

“Are you sure you should be exciting a convalescent, so?” He whispers against the soft press of Arthur’s lips.

“I don’t care.” Pulling away with a sigh, Arthur gentles Merlin’s hair. “Someone’s got to take care of your hair, Merlin. Your grooming needs attention. It’s too wild. Allow me.”

“You’d make a terrible hairdress—mfff.”

Arthur kisses away Merlin’s words until he has forgotten what he intended to say, and he is lost for a moment until a gentle knock on the door interrupts them.

“Merlin!”

“Oh God, it’s my mum,” says Merlin, leaning back.

“Obviously,” purrs Arthur, trying to chase Merlin’s lips with his mouth. “She does live here, after all. And she approves. She let me into the house, after all.”

“Stop it!” Snorting out a laugh, Merlin puts a hand against Arthur’s mouth to push him away. When Arthur licks his hand, he feigns disgust although the sensation turns him on horribly, so he has to fight down his body’s instant reaction. 

“Merlin, I’d like you to come and meet someone.” Hunith opens the door and peers around it. 

“What, now?” protests Merlin, blushing from the roots of his hair to the very tips while Arthur continues to pester him. “Arthur!”

“Sorry.” Arthur drops the act and sits back on his elbows, smirking.

"Yes, now, Cariad." 

“Who is it, anyway?” Merlin grabs his dressing gown from the chair by the side of his bed, and throws it around his shoulders.

“Oh, just the guy I’ve been seeing,” says Hunith over her shoulder as she wheels away down the corridor.

“What?” With a bit of help from Arthur, Merlin staggers over to the door. “Who?” he shouts after her retreating back.

She turns a three-sixty and smiles up at him—a sunny, unconcerned sort of smile. One that does not even begin to hint at the firework that her words will ignite.

“His name’s Ambrose, dear,” she says, tilting her head to one side.

“Ambrose?” Merlin nods.

“Yes dear.” Hunith turns away and resumes her progress down the hall, shouting over her shoulder, “Ambrose Balinorson. Now, hurry up! Breakfast won’t stay hot forever!”

“Balinorson?” says Merlin faintly. Luckily Arthur is there to hold him up. His legs feel decidedly wobbly. But his mother doesn’t hear. No doubt she is too excited at the prospect of breakfast with her date...

“What on earth is the matter?” murmurs Arthur into his ear. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Which I suppose is plausible, given that it’s you we’re talking about. Are there gho—?”

“You don’t understand!” Merlin says, horror making him feel faint. “Balinorson is my father's name. My mother... my mother... is dating my _father_.”

Arthur turns Merlin bodily round and grasps him by both shoulders, examining his face as if looking for clues.

“Well,” he says after a while. “Think of it this way. It could be a lot worse.” He pauses with a grin as if delivering a punchline. “She could be dating _mine_!”


	6. Chapter 6

The first time Merlin stays round at Arthur’s flat, the fault lies firmly with Morgana. If asked, Merlin would blame the convenience of Arthur's flat to the bus stop, combined with the terrible fatigue brought on by a day spent holding up Morgana’s pro-magical placards outside the Houses of Parliament. Of course, other people should take their share of the blame, too. Like Gaius, for his enthusiastic support of the Tally Army’s groundswell of public support. And Uther himself, for condemning Aredian and switching sides so dramatically. But it is mainly Morgana’s fault. Or, so Merlin would claim. If asked.

In reality, though, he has been thinking longingly about the emperor-sized bed in Arthur’s penthouse apartment for some weeks, now. Not to mention the emperor-sized ego that normally sleeps in it.

And today, after spending the whole day glued to Arthur’s side, with the gorgeous clotpole’s jaw and infuriating pink lips within one metre of Merlin's face at all times... well. Such proximity plays havoc with Merlin’s still-erratic bursts of magic. Even though Merlin now has the fuzzy, excitable tendrils of it tied up in knots so tight that he thinks his brain might burst, every so often he catches a glimpse of Arthur's golden hair... or else, the back of his hand catches on Arthur's outstretched fingers... or Arthur adopts some one of those ridiculous expressions that he has, the ones where his face morphs into something gawky and dweeby and derpy, until Merlin melts and feels all gooey inside. And that is all it takes for Merlin's magic to go haywire. One quirk of Arthur's stupidly kissable lips or roll of his unfeasibly blue eyes, and a burst of magic erupts under the skin of Merlin's fingers, until Bingo! Out pops a shimmering blue butterfly or golden dragon, which then flutters off into the distance, fading among the yelling crowds. 

Luckily, the addition of swarming clouds of butterflies and dragons only adds to the jubilant atmosphere at the protest, as Arthur informs the crowd that the Excalibur counter-serum will be made available free of charge on the NHS to any magic user who has suffered ill-effects from the kryo-collar. 

So, after the demonstration, when their battle bus with its slogans finally discharges its cargo of exhausted magic users and their supporters in central Camelot, rather than trudge back to his tiny shared bedsit full of Will's filthy socks, Merlin decides that enough is enough. 

"Hey, Arthur, can I kip over at yours tonight?" Merlin yawns with all the nonchalance that he can muster. "It's much nearer than my place. And I'm knackered." 

"Knackered? You don't say." Arthur rolls his eyes. "That might explain why you were drooling all over my shoulder on the bus." 

"I did not drool!" says Merlin, outraged. But he wipes a hand across his mouth anyway, just in case.

"Merlin." Gwen's face is a picture of concern. "You should have said! Gaius made me promise not to let you over-exert yourself, and you still need time to recover."

"Yes, doctor, of course, doctor, whatever you say, doctor," he deadpans.

"Don't you dare _yes doctor_ me!" She bashes his upper arm, but not hard enough to hurt, and tilts her head to one side. "I know you and your idea of rest. You've been manufacturing butterflies to entertain the magical kids all day, and I know that saps your strength. Don't think that you've got away with it. Arthur agrees with me, don't you Arthur? Make him sleep, Arthur."

"Yes, doctor. Of course, doctor. Whatever you say, doctor," echoes a grinning Arthur. 

"Oh, not you as well!"

She sticks out her tongue and turns her back on them, striding off into the distance. "You're both impossible," she calls over her shoulder. "Come on, Lance."

Her fiance, the nurse, Lance, shrugs and tucks both their placards under his arm. "I'd better, um..." He winks and sets off in her wake.

"Sure you don't fancy a pint?" shouts Gwaine to his retreating back. "We're off down the Rising Sun. The barman fancies me." 

"You think everyone fancies you." Leon rolls his eyes. 

"That's because they do." With a casual flip of his hair Gwaine bites into an apple, flashing an array of perfect white teeth in a broad grin. 

"You do look tired, Merlin." Morgana smirks. "You should go straight to bed. Both of you."

After sending a pointed look at Arthur, she links hands with Morgause. She mutters a quick spell, and they both blink out. 

Now that they're alone, Arthur looks at Merlin through hooded eyes and blinks slowly, gaze travelling from Merlin's mouth to his crotch and back. His expression reminds Merlin of a predator from a wildlife show, one that has identified its prey and circles around it, licking its lips and devising ways to devour it.

“Sure it's okay with you if I stay, Arthur?” Merlin looks down and looks up at Arthur through his lashes, allowing a brief hint of a smirk to tug at his lips.

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't," says Arthur, fumbling in his pocket for a second before procuring a key.

 

 

Once inside, they waste no time in mere conversation. The second the door to Arthur's flat closes behind them, Merlin’s back fetches up against the wall in the corridor, while Arthur attempts to kiss his face off. Merlin would protest, but the firm press of Arthur’s thigh between his legs and the hot slide of Arthur’s mouth against his neck and throat rob him of his voice, so he lets out a breathy moan instead, and tilts his head back, exposing his throat to Arthur’s probing tongue and lips.

“Minx,” murmurs Arthur into the crook of Merlin’s neck as he fumbles with Merlin’s belt and tugs at his T-shirt. “Tease. You and your bloody eyelashes and your bloody magic everywhere. God. I swear. It's been stroking my arms Merlin. Stroking my face. I’ve been nursing a semi for hours. _Hours,_ Merlin!”

“Get on with it,” says Merlin, voice cracking with the strain of his own arousal. “Before my balls explode.”

Instead of replying, Arthur groans, bundles Merlin over his shoulder, and strides off towards the bedroom, grunting with the effort. He kicks the door open and deposits Merlin, back first, onto the bed, following him down, pushing Merlin down with the heat and weight of his half-clad body.

“Caveman!” pants Merlin, turned on beyond measure. He shucks off his half-open jeans and tugs at his underpants until his cock springs free to bob on his stomach. “Neanderthal!”

“You love it!”

Merlin does. He sprawls, reckless, body lax, limbs spread. His magic builds, fizzing and rippling through his mind behind his shields, agitating at him in golden waves of anticipation, making his muscles clench, urgent in their need.

"God, look at you," Arthur whispers. 

His hands busy themselves with getting both men naked, efficient in their haste, until finally Arthur's own cock juts, rosy and proud, from a tangle of honey-gold hairs. But his mouth is gentle as on Merlin’s collarbones and as it moves down his chest, where Arthur licks and sucks at Merlin’s nipples in maddening circles until they peak and Merlin writhes, helpless.

“What do you want?” 

“Anything.” Merlin’s heart races as he folds his fingers through the silky strands of Arthur’s golden hair, slipping them down to caress the muscled bones of his shoulders, his arms, his neck, relishing the warmth and roughness of Arthur's skin beneath his fingertips. He lets out a helpless whimper. “Everything.”

“You’ve been very unwell.” Kneeling, Arthur straddles Merlin's waist, bending forward to claim his mouth in clusters of chaste kisses before sitting back on his heels, his cock lined up along the muscles of Merlin's belly. He thumbs a strand of hair from Merlin's cheek with a tenderness that makes Merlin catch his breath. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

The heat of Arthur’s skin on his brings Merlin out in a sweat, and fills him with an intense longing. His own cock, painfully aroused, is obscured, hidden by the bulk of Arthur's body. He rocks his hips up, seeking friction. Not finding the stimulation he needs, he whines in disappointment.  

“Of course I'm ready. I've never been readier.” Merlin drags his hands around the perfect rounds of Arthur’s arse, rolling his hips again, pulling Arthur up until his cock nudges at Arthur's beckoning seam. “God, Arthur. Now who's being a tease”

"Needy. Impatient. I should have guessed." Arthur chuckles. "Wait until I have time to put some protection on you."

The tension eases for a moment while Arthur reaches into a drawer. When he brandishes a condom between his teeth with a grin that splits his face in two, shaking his head to tear into the packet, Merlin huffs out a deep chortle that makes his belly buck and legs shake. But as Arthur eases the condom onto Merlin's cock, the anticipation continues to build. Nothing can damp the growing heat and sheer exhilaration that sits in his belly and slides through his muscles with the trembling slide of Arthur’s hand on his cock.

When at last Arthur sinks backwards onto Merlin's cock, slack-jawed, eyes closing, Merlin’s magic banks up inside his head, and behind his navel, in a growing tension that threatens to burst from him in ecstatic waves.

Groaning, Arthur turns to one side, dragging Merlin over him, pinioning him between Arthur’s legs. Arthur’s cock lies firm and heavy between them. There he lies, golden and invincible, open for Merlin, ready for him in every way. “God. Fuck me properly, you colossal tease.”

Just the sight of Arthur so vulnerable, pleading to be fucked, nearly tips Merlin over the edge.

“My magic.” With a gasping breath, Merlin clenches his teeth. “I can’t hold it back.”

“Then let it go,” growls Arthur.

Merlin does. It bursts from him in thick waves of ecstatic, golden light that make him shiver as a delicious heat coats his skin. All the electrics in Arthurs flat fizzle and wink out. It doesn’t matter. Thanks to the wild energy from Merlin’s unfettered magic, their bodies glow a brilliant gold wherever they touch.

They give themselves over to their need, rocking together, turning over and over until they cry out, overwhelmed.

Later, as they lie cooling off, in a sticky, sweaty heap, Merlin restores the electricity with a negligent wave of his hand. He nuzzles into the warm notch between the flat, honey-rose planes of Arthurs pectoral muscle and his bicep. It fits him, this notch. This is where he belongs.

He holds out a hand to channel his magic, free at last. Above their heads, as he drags his hand around, a pair of dragons play, made from sparks of light that drift in through the window.

Arthur tips his head back onto the pillow and laughs the sort of full-throated, unaffected laugh that fills the world with joy and makes Merlin feel like he can never be sad again.

“Oh, Merlin, Merlin. I think we can safely say,” Arthur murmurs between guffaws that betray awe mingled with amusement and trust. “That your magic has now recovered.”

Smiling, Merlin nods as the dragons dance a smug tarantella across the cooling lines of their limbs.

*END*

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** These are not my characters, and I'm not getting paid for this work. BBC / Shine own some aspects of this Merlin / Arthur incarnation, but the legends belong to us all.
> 
>  **Content notes** Contents of this fic are actually rated teen and up except the second half of the epilogue, which features a gratuitous sex scene THAT FORMS AN IMPORTANT PART OF THE PLOT, HONEST, unless you're not in the mood, in which case you can totally skip it if you want to.


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